Camp Chemo: Postcards Home from Metastatic Breast Cancer Book Excerpt
Stage III: Wednesday, September 26, 2007, 8:49 p.m.
I’m home from the hospital! While I’m totally exhausted, it’s great to be home. Being free of needles for at least a few days is such a happy pros- pect. Family was visiting tonight, but now the kids are asleep, and I’ll be sleeping soon too. Poor Wade is cleaning the kitchen before he goes to bed.
The PET scan confirmed no more cancer! The diagnosis is officially Stage III, which means it traveled from my breast to my lymph nodes. The surgeon removed eleven nodes, and six were found to have cancer.
If you visit, two things to keep in mind: we’re not saying “cancer” to Vivian. She knows I had surgery to remove something that was growing wrong. She knows I’ll need medicine, but we haven’t discussed that my hair will fall out. She’s only six, so we don’t want to scare her. Also, if you visit, do try to pay some attention to Vivian — she’s been such a big girl about everything. Already her little Swedish stiff upper lip is showing. She says that everything is fine, even when you can see the concern in her little eyes.
Jackson doesn’t know what’s going on. In some ways, I hate having to deal with this when he’s only one year old, but I’m glad he won’t re- member any of it. It’s hard to believe he was still nursing just a few weeks ago when I found the lump. When I found out I’d have to stop nursing him immediately, I cried for hours. It was such a shock — I hadn’t realized nursing would have to stop after the breast MRI that was required before surgery. How do you tell a baby he needs to end, immediately, that special activity he’s loved his whole life? It was difficult, but I knew it was best for his health and mine.
Luckily, both kids have been cared for by my mom several days per week since they were babies. Her calming presence is helping keep life as normal as possible for them now. She’s a retired nurse, so even when I was a kid, she took great care of me whenever I was sick. Her expert care of me continues today, and I’m glad the kids are also benefiting from having a wonderful grandma.
The last few days have been an emotional roller coaster. From the high highs of receiving the “no more surgery” news to the low lows of “wow, I have cancer — is there something I could have done to prevent this?”
I have two to three weeks to heal from the surgery. During that time, I’ll have more tests, including a heart scan, to make sure I’m healthy enough for chemo. Before my hair falls out, I hope to meet with my hairdresser to discuss a short haircut. Then I’ll donate my hair to the charity Locks of Love, which makes wigs for kids experiencing permanent medical hair loss. The American Cancer Society has a whole packet on beauty during chemo, and I look forward to experimenting with some new looks.
Chemo will last four months. It’s a bummer, but it’s hard to get too upset about a treatment that will save my life, even if it sucks in the short term.
Thank you for your love and support! Camille
Back to the Office: Friday, September 28, 2007, 9:15 p.m.
Today, I went into the office for two hours, and it was so great to be back at work. My manager, Barb, provided some sound advice: ease back. Don’t rush it. But I long to be back for real. It was nice to see my dear colleagues again. They’re so very supportive.
Feeling good about work is starting to ease my financial worries con- nected to this disease. Despite having “good” health insurance, we’ll still have to fork over a ton of cash for my “maximum out-of-pocket expense.” Hopefully, the loss of wages from my surgical recovery will be minimized if I can keep up a good pace when I’m at the office. Even though I work at a nonprofit, most of my compensation is commission, so as long as I work hard, my paychecks will keep up.
Physically, I’m feeling good, but I tire very quickly. Two long naps kept me going strong today.
The one current source of pain is the drainage tube (yes, it’s as gross as it sounds). It’s a one-centimeter-wide tube with two bulbs attached. One bulb is under my skin; the other is at the end of the tube. A few times a day, we need to empty the pouch and measure the amount of fluid so we can report to the doctor if there’s too much. I’m looking forward to my next doctor’s appointment when the gross drainage tube will be removed.
My sense of gratitude grows daily with all the kind words, flowers, cookies, meals, and offers of help that keep coming in. Still, our greatest need is for continued prayer and positive thoughts. If your place of wor- ship has a prayer list, please add me to it. My belief in the power of prayer grows daily.
We still haven’t said the C word to Vivian, and she hasn’t been asking any questions about my health since I returned home from the hospital. Her fantastic school social worker had a talk with Vivian, who seems to be doing well, according to her. Jackson had a few difficult nights after the speed weaning, but now he’s getting back to his easygoing self. Both kids are getting more cookies than ever before!
Thunderstorm Beauty: Sunday, September 30, 2007, 8:45 p.m.
Woke up this morning to a beautiful thunderstorm. No pain at all upon waking! No nightmares last night. Plus, I only woke once to take medica- tion. What a great night.
The good night was followed by a good morning at church. The ser- mon was on envy. It’s strange, but in many ways I envy myself — the me I was a month ago. I envy my freedom from pain and fear. I envy my petty worries from last month.
Before dinner, I went to the gym to walk and ride the bike. Not a very vigorous workout, but I wanted to at least go there to get past that first time back.
Overall, a good day.
Learn more about the book at www.CampChemo.com
