This morning started fantastic. I had my loving angel child snuggling with me, being cooperative and eating a good healthy breakfast. I am emotional today as I am getting my genetics results and there is now a request to put in port (for chemo and blood samples) for tomorrow that I need to make a decision about. I go upstairs to get ready to leave, find myself taking a call with a medical professional to discuss this port thing in more detail and to make a decision for tomorrow.
While I talk on the phone, it seems too quiet so I make my way downstairs to see that my angel child, that sweet little guy, has pooed on the chair he likes to stand on in the kitchen. He has poo against the sliding door, there is poo in his hand, he is gleefully tearing around and smearing! I am still on the phone at this point getting pertinent information and coaching him to stay in the kitchen – all I need is for him to dash to the livingroom carpet and upholstered couch – and the patient scheduler of this procedure is being told, “I’m sorry, potty training issues” and keeps hearing, ”Stay in the kitchen”’ very firmly in her ear. Once phone call is finished I take said angel child to the bath and promptly find myself crying. A call to my dad calms me, he drives over and takes over getting the little guy to daycare. I spend my morning making my kitchen spotlessly clean and disinfected. I wonder if this is a reflection of what little guy feels about all this medical intervention his mom is involved in?
While I talk on the phone, it seems too quiet so I make my way downstairs to see that my angel child, that sweet little guy, has pooed on the chair he likes to stand on in the kitchen. He has poo against the sliding door, there is poo in his hand, he is gleefully tearing around and smearing! I am still on the phone at this point getting pertinent information and coaching him to stay in the kitchen – all I need is for him to dash to the livingroom carpet and upholstered couch – and the patient scheduler of this procedure is being told, “I’m sorry, potty training issues” and keeps hearing, ”Stay in the kitchen”’ very firmly in her ear. Once phone call is finished I take said angel child to the bath and promptly find myself crying. A call to my dad calms me, he drives over and takes over getting the little guy to daycare. I spend my morning making my kitchen spotlessly clean and disinfected. I wonder if this is a reflection of what little guy feels about all this medical intervention his mom is involved in?
So today has been a mixed sort of day. I should let those who are following know that I am doing well post first session of chemo. I was concerned about catching a cold with a cough arising yesterday, but that seems to have passed. Perhaps I need more sleep. Yes, I was incredibly fatigued on Sunday – you needed a spatula to lift me up out of bed. Then Monday I had boundless energy – I’m guessing the impact of the drop in white blood cells and then the drug that replenishes them musta kicked in. However my auntie, who had the same chemo regime a few years back, tells me the white blood cells drop in the second week and this is when I need to be ultra vigilent about infections.
The genetic testing results are negative, so that means I am not being recommended to do more surgery. Hurray! As I shouldn't drink a celebratory glass of wine I opted for dark chocolate and dried cranberries for a treat. Because of the family history clearly has a genetic predisposition to breast cancer, we (my family members) are being asked if we’ll volunteer our blood to do more genetic testing and so researchers can try and understand what is going on with families where there is a lot of breast cancer but not BRCA 1 or 2. The genetics team I've been working with says they have about 20 families like this.
About the port, the port thing allows for blood to be taken and chemo drugs to be administered rather than being poked by needles each time. I know this is going to be better for me and will eliminate being poked for everything in the next year; and I won't look like a junkie with track marks all over by the end of my treatments; however it is a medical apparatus that is on my being 24/7 for the next year and a bit. I am not liking the idea that I will physically have something on my person to remind me of the treatment I am receiving. I guess it makes the job of keeping positive and keeping “normal” a little more difficult. Another challenge to wrap my brain around; breast cancer treatment sure does a lot to impact one’s self image - more about that and wigs soon.
