So, How Was Camp Chemo?

Dear friends & family,
My first day of Camp Chemo was pretty breezy, and while I can't say that I would have chosen this camp of my own free will, the people are pretty nice, and they give you a fairly comfortable chair to use during your stay. There is a kitchenette, a TV that was unfortunately turned on during the last hour (now I can watch my stories), and wifi. Plus the added benefit of starting treatment that will get rid of this cancer.
Thank you for all of your thoughtful texts, Snapchats, FB messages, etc. It definitely helped brighten this big day by knowing you are supporting me. 😍

My morning began very smoothly, always a plus:

• Good night's sleep ✅
• Wake up on first alarm ✅
• Shower/get ready ✅
• Light breakfast (my standard warm water with lemon, smoothie, matcha tea) ✅
• Remembered to apply lidocaine cream to Power Port location ✅
• Only slightly overpacked my backpack with comfort items, laptop, books, and magazines ✅
• Arrive on time, with five minutes to spare ✅

Since it was my first day, I was informed that it would take a little longer, so they could assess whether or not I have allergies to one of the drugs called Taxol (I do not). I met the two nurses (Sofia and Jennifer), met with Researcher S., met with the Physicians's Assistant (PA) J., and another woman whose name I cannot remember but brought me a tablet with some surveys that I needed to complete for participation in the clinical trial.
I also had some additional blood drawn for mystery reasons (also part of the clinical trial, and is just a fact of life. The nurses don't know what it is for, either), my vitals checked, and completed a biopsychosocial assessment (just a Likert scale of how I am doing in terms of well-being, quality of life, anxiety, depression, pain, etc.). I feel mostly great, in case you are wondering.

Researcher S. stopped by to ask if I had brought my anti-nausea medications, and to say that I should not try to push through feelings of nausea or pain. She added, "Not that I think that you are one of those people," which shows that she does not know me at all, or is a great psychological device for getting "those people" to agree that they will not try to push through and will in fact take those medications when the need arises.

I got to use my Power Port for the first time! We began with a saline solution, then 30 minutes of the Pembro (immunotherapy drug) OR placebo saline solution LET US ALL TAKE A MOMENT TO HOPE/PRAY/SEND GOOD VIBES THAT IT IS THE PEMBRO THANK YOU, some "pre-meds" that included Benadryl and steroids in preparation for the Taxol, which was administered in a ramping-up fashion taking a little over an hour that we will not need to do in future appointments given that I am not allergic, and capping it off with Carbo for 30 minutes and one final saline solution flush.

This is a double-blind study, so I will never know whether or not I am one of the lucky recipients. It is a 2:1 chance that I will, though, so I have some okay odds.

Three or four hours later, I am feeling mostly normal. I had a snooze with Jax, one of the kitties I live with, on my stomach (Benadryl is the culprit for fatigue here), I took the dog (Toby) for a walk in this most gorgeous fall weather, and now it is time for dinner. I am told that it may be tougher on day three or four, so we will cross that bridge when we get there.

Here is a picture of Jax and me taken a few weeks ago. He loves to snuggle. Ignore my bedhead.

First Chemotherapy

Me, receiving chemo IRL:

The Awkward Newbie (My First Lab)

This morning I go in for labs, which is the blood work that needs to be done the morning prior to receiving each chemo infusion. These lab tests monitor my complete blood count (CBC); for white blood cells (WBC), red blood cells (RBC), and platelets; as well as my metabolic panel, which measures kidney and liver function and electrolyte levels.
I have had one lab experience so far, when I went in last week as a prerequisite to admission to the immunotherapy clinical trial. Allow me to regale you with my awkward newbie tale:

Arrive to Lab location with more than five minutes to spare (always a win to arrive early! Avoiding unnecessary anxiety is important.) Check in with very nice and upbeat front desk human, who clearly knows everyone as he greets several individual patients by name, and asks me if this is my first time being there. "Yes," I say, smiling. I sign in and pay my co-pay.
He directs me where to sign in and asks me to take a seat and wait for my name to be called. As a newbie, I head directly to a chair next to a boombox. I love music. How nice.
Very quickly I remember that boomboxes have terrible sound quality. I then realize that all of the other people waiting to be called for their labs have chosen chairs that are nowhere near this cacophony. I think, ah, yes, wise pros... I consider moving seats but decide to wait it out. I am sure I will be called soon.
Twenty minutes go by, people arrive, sign in, and are called. They depart. I continue to wait to hear my name. Employees walk by with their lunches that smell delicious.
Suddenly I realize this boombox has begun to blast Clapton's "Tears in Heaven." I freeze, wondering if I am hearing correctly. (Of course I am, because music.) I then look around wild-eyed to see if anyone else has noticed, but no one meets my gaze. I am awkward so I laugh a little to myself. Eric continues to sing, "Because I know, there'll be no more... tears in heaven."
Fight or flight starts to set in, and when the next person is called and vacates her seat at the end of the row, I bolt for it. It is the farthest away from the bleating boombox. I text John, "Poor soundtrack choices here."
"PATRICIA WELT." A woman, presumably a nurse, is in the entryway.
I say, "Wel-TEE." She says something that sounds closer to this and everyone in the waiting room stares as I bebop my way over to her. (Note: I do understand why my last name is mispronounced and I am not angry about it, but I will correct you if I know we are going to be interacting more than once.) We walk to her station, she asks me my name and birthdate, punches keys on her keyboard, furrows her brow. Since I know I am there to have blood removed from my body, I push up my sleeve and bare it towards her. She swabs it with alcohol, inserts needle, and busies herself with her computer. She makes some frustrated noises at it, so I break the silence (because she did not speak a word to me this entire time. Zero explanation of what she was doing, who she was, what I was expected to do. Nothing.) by asking if she is having computer problems. She nods in the affirmative, clearly exasperated.
My blood is filling up a vial. I look down to my immediate right and see a large biohazard bin of used needles and other gross items. I wonder if that is all from today? I consider asking her, but then decide that I really do not want to know the answer.
The vial is full. She removes it and tells me to hold the gauze on the location tightly as she applies labels. Next she hands me a container and stares at me. I stare back blankly. She says, "I'll need a urine sample. Do you know where the bathroom is?" I do not.
I say, "It's my first time here. I don't know where anything is." She tells me where to go, shouting behind me when I mistakenly turn right too early. I have to walk through the waiting room to reach the bathroom. Everyone stares again and I bebop past them. I smile. I do as I am told and return it to the nurse and take my seat next to her. She is frowning at the computer again. The nurse across from us also appears frustrated about her computer.
"Oh, so this is all computers that are giving you trouble today!" I attempt conversation once more.
"Yes," she says. "We are grieving. We need grief counseling!" She laughs. I awkwardly laugh back, perplexed. I cannot wait to get out of here.
Eventually I realize that she is staring at me. She asks if I know where I am supposed to go next (I do not). She directs me back to the very friendly front desk person who will help me out, and he does.

Suffice to say that right now I am pretty pumped to be heading out the door for today's labs. I am more seasoned now, my friends. I have headphones.

Addendum: Later that day I shared this story with my sister-in-law, K., who asked if they used the chemo port to draw the blood samples. I said, "No. And I didn't want that lady to take my chemo port-virginity, anyway!" Truth. I did not.

Update: Today's labs were much more efficient and I was greeted warmly by the nurse. The music, however, was Clapton again (thankfully could not hear which song since I was clear across the room). John has offered to make them a mixed tape. 

Preparing for Life with Chemo

With my treatment plan now set (starting on Friday!), I have been spending most of my time prepping for life with chemo. I thought I would share with you some of these, in case you are interested in what I have been up to since blasting my news to the world.

My preparation has been guided by what I have curated from Chemo Class (an actual class one is required to attend in order to begin chemo, where you learn about how toxic you are after being infused with powerful drugs), by various booklets, books, and (trusted) websites, from survivor friends' blogs (thank you lady K.!), and from my own personal preferences.

Research all of the things.
When I start something new, I tend to fully immerse myself. I want to know everything about the topic. (Yes, it can cause overwhelm.) In this case, it is helping me to accept that I have cancer and to identify as someone who is now doing the things that people who have cancer must do. This includes:

• Buy all of the books (and even a DVD!).
• Attend Chemo Class (as previously mentioned).
• Talk to all of the people. 
• What was their experience like? What resources did they find helpful? How did it impact their daily lives? Their professional lives? How does it impact them today? 
•  A huge amount of gratitude for the survivor friends who have contacted me and offered themselves as resources, and to those with friends who have connected me to their survivor friends. I am (somewhat slowly) reaching out, and I so appreciate all of these incredible connections.

Have medical port put in.

Did you know that I have already had a minor surgery? Yes, I had to have a medical port, aka chemo port, aka Power Port (actual brand name) inserted into my chest. This was my first surgery EVER, and thankfully it was not that big of a deal overall. Dr. V. performed the surgery, thus formalizing our professional relationship. It was explained to me (something) like this: "I will be inserting this plastic device into your chest, under your clavicle. I will make an incision, then make room for it, and check the vein nearby to ensure that it can be used. I will also check your heart and your lungs while I have you open. The operation will take about 30 minutes. You will have some anesthesia so you will be out for the surgery. You will not be able to drive afterwards." I am obviously paraphrasing, but these were the major points. In addition to having my first surgery, I also was wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair-- another first (thinking of you, Sime). 

This device (pictured below) is for the chemo infusions; they will use this instead of arm veins. It is a small plastic piece with an opaque, softer plastic middle, which is where needles/IVs will be inserted each time. If you see me IRL, feel free to ask to view it; I am a small person so it is pretty visible, and I have a small surgical incision scar located right above it. At this point in post-surgery healing, I barely notice that it is there, and I can even easily do yoga postures that include chest-openers.

My heart and lungs looked great, by the way.

Picture of a (pretty purple) Power Port. 

Tests, tests, tests.

So many tests. 

Breast MRI: Helpful tool for gathering further information about the tumor and its size. 

This was by far the most undignified test of them all, as I went in thinking, "Oh, MRI NBD I just lay down and then inserted into a tube and then listen to a lot of noises and try to breathe/not panic." Mostly accurate except that I had to lie down in a prone position, with breasts hanging down in between two slots. (Hey, sorry but I did warn in my first post that I would be talking about breasts here.) It was so rude. The indignities. And that was my Saturday morning! 

CT & Bone Scans: Fairly straightforward, simply drink chalky, berry-flavored barium drink at proper time (thanks to John I got this mostly accurate). Arrive at bone scan location, receive injection of radiation, promise to return in three hours. Drive to the next location, receive CT scan. Eat some lunch, return to bone scan place for (you guessed it) my bone scan. These tests were necessary to determine if the cancer had spread to a second location (verdict: it has not, which is a huge win). 

ECHO: From WebMd: "An echocardiogram (also called an echo) is a type of ultrasound test that uses high-pitched sound waves that are sent through a device called a transducer. The device picks up echoes of the sound waves as they bounce off the different parts of your heart." My test was the Doppler. The technician, Todd, was really great and I like that he explained everything to me. He told me that I have a good heart and that the test results would likely reflect that (they did). He also made a few jokes that were funny, even though I knew he uses them on everyone. "Now I'm going to take a look at your liver to see what's left." (He used to work near a college campus and this one apparently freaked out all of the college students.) He also gave me an ultrasound picture of my heart and said, "Here's a picture of your heart, so now you have proof if anyone accuses you of not having one." All delivered deadpan, which is the best humor, in my opinion. Thank you, Todd! 

I have a heart! And it is a good one. (Note: this is NOT my uterus.)

ECG: From WebMd: A doctor may suggest "an electrocardiogram -- also called an EKG or ECG -- to check for signs of heart disease. It's a test that records the electrical activity of your ticker through small electrode patches that a technician attaches to the skin of your chest, arms, and legs." It literally took longer to set up than to administer this test. It turns out I do have a very good heart; my resting heart rate is low (high 50s), although now that I think back on it, Researcher S. did not actually tell me the rate that day. Anyway, she did show me the graph and it all seemed lovely. (I am not a trained scientist, and I am aware that my descriptions here betray this, and I am okay with that.) 

Genetic. I spit kind of a lot of saliva into a vial that they sent away to a lab. I was told that insurance will definitely cover my test on account of me being so young and having cancer. The results came back early this week and indicated that, as far as they know with the research at this point in time, this is not an inherited gene. Therefore there is not a concern for my mother, sister, aunts, cousins, etc. to be tested, but they should keep up with mammograms and should speak with their obgyns. 

Make hair decisions.  

As you are aware, I've chopped 10 inches off my hair and currently have a pixie. I got to this decision quickly, but I had an in-between bob for a few days that I just could not embrace, no matter how many times I compared it to Jackie O. 

Other decisions that needed to be made included whether or not to attempt to save my hair via cold cap technology. If you have not heard of this, the gist is that you have a cap that is kept at a certain temperature that is placed over your head/hair for a bit before chemo, during chemo, and for a few hours following chemo. The upkeep is not light, as you have to switch out the cap for a new cold one every 30 minutes, as it cannot drop below that certain specific temperature. I decided to forgo this option due to its high maintenance, the fact that it is not covered by insurance, and it's success rate is around 50%. Seems like a great deal of trouble for it to not work out. Meh. Here is more info on one kind of cold cap, if you are interested in learning more. 

Thus, I am going for a wig (or two), with some trusty hats and beautiful scarves as additional options. My lovely mermaid stylist, Trinity, has spearheaded (ha, so many head puns) the effort to procure a wig and to style it for me. She has been my friend and stylist for about a decade, and I am so lucky she is on this case. In terms of going and being bald, I was told that it will take a few weeks before I notice anything (and people, I have a LOT of thick hair), so we shall see when it actually becomes unsightly. I am hopeful that Phase II of chemo will be lighter and regrowth will begin. If anyone would like to start a pool for the date I will need to shave it, let me know (being somewhat serious here, because I need to laugh at cancer on occasion. For me, it is appropriate)!

Buy anti-bacterial and disinfectant everything. 

Also known as "spend all of your money at Target." I purchased disinfectant wipes, anti-bacterial soaps for every purse and bag, tons of bathroom cleaners; you name it, I have now disinfected it. One of the medical professionals that I am in touch with regularly (I will refer to her as Researcher S.) said, "You know those people that wipe down their grocery carts and put anti-bacterial soap on all of the time? That's you now." So, okay cool. I can do that. 

Salon manicure/pedicure.

Well this is clearly optional, but you might be aware that I am a very major fan of having my nails done, preferably with a gel manicure from a salon. I have learned that I must give up any nail salon visits during chemo treatment, so as to avoid infection. I can, however, paint my nails with regular polish, and they even recommended the Sally Hansen Hard as Nails line. It will help keep my nails strong (thank you J. for the nail polish!).

Fill prescriptions. 

So far there are just three prescriptions; one for a lidocaine cream to be applied to the site of the chemo port about half an hour before going to my chemo appointment, and two anti-nausea medications (compazine to start with, ativan if more is needed). 

I also needed to buy medications for gastrointestinal concerns, which I prefer to preempt as much as possible by eating healthy, using known natural options (think: prune juice), and supplements. 

Regarding supplements, I have been okayed for the use of: a Vitamin B complex, Vitamin D, multivitamin, turmeric, and L-glutamine (may help prevent neuropathy, or numbness in fingers and toes that is a potential long-lasting side effect of chemo).

Prepare batches of food to freeze.
My sweet and loving husband bought me an Instant Pot, which if you are not aware, is a device that is essentially a kitchen swiss army knife. Namely, it cooks things super fast, which I very much appreciate. I have successfully made a batch of veggie Bolognese (featured in this previous post), which I put into smaller containers to freeze for use on days when I am not interested in cooking (lo, this turns out to be most days, and I have not yet begun treatment). UPDATE: I somehow failed to mention earlier the batch of pesto that my mom made me while she visited recently, which is actually better than the veggie Bolognese. Thank you, Mom!

I also learned in Chemo Class that I should avoid eating my favorite foods during treatment, as it will change my relationship to those foods. This presents a kind of dilemma, right? So I am to eat the foods I do not like? No. 

I will keep you posted, dear reader.

Visit the dentist.
Due to working on three campaigns in the past year, I have to fess up that I was a few months past my time for my dental checkup and cleaning, and it turns out this is pretty critical thing to have done before starting chemo. This is because chemo goes after the rapidly-dividing cells in your body and does not differentiate between the ones you need (mouth, hair, nails) and the ones you are working to eradicate (cancer cells). Therefore mouth health is now quite elevated, with avoidance of bacteria as a primary goal.
Given that we just moved, I had to find a new dentist; and given that this has been moving very quickly, I felt some pressure to make it happen right away. Luckily, my in-laws had a great recommendation very close by who also took our insurance and was able to get me in that week (albeit at 7:30am. I did not complain, however). I also count myself lucky because I have fairly amazing teeth and I was thrilled to announce to everyone that while it may be true that I have cancer, I sure as hell do not have any cavities!

Prepare my chemo bag.
Thank amazing family and friends, I am heading into my first chemo appointment incredibly prepared. I have cozy clothing, an incredibly soft comforter, gentle lotion, lip balm, warm socks, soothing ginger chews and peppermint tea, and a few current fashion magazines. I am going to show up to this appointment like the proud newbie cancer patient that I am, fully armed with comfort and the love and support of all of you. Thank you. 🙏

This is definitely going to keep me warm in the chilly chemo room! 

Statement Hair

My friend J. and I were talking about my hair, and she said, "Trish, you have statement hair. A pixie is a statement." It was then that I knew I would be just fine chopping it off.

I love my hair, and I was sad to think about cutting it, but please know, dear reader, that I did not cry. I was most sad about the fact that I intended to donate the 10 inches to charity, but that somehow got lost amongst the rush of appointments and decisions that needed to be made. Don't judge.

Sometimes people undergoing cancer treatments do not lose all of their hair. It depends on the type of chemo drugs they are prescribed and the duration of their treatment. I do know that I will lose my hair for certain. It will take a few weeks for it to begin, and rather than seeing clumps of hair fall out (not a fun visual, amirite?) I figured I'd get a head (ha!) start on it. I will shave it completely when that becomes a thing. Also, it will take some time to grow out once I am done with treatment, and I wanted to know how that will look. The answer is, of course, FABULOUS THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

Selected quote:

"Trish, you have statement hair. A pixie is a statement." -- J.

Imagine (People are Amazing)

I mentioned previously that I have been slowly reaching out to tell individuals about the news of this bull**** intruder, and I am so embarrassed (because vulnerability is embarrassing to me) and incredibly grateful for everyone's incredibly supportive responses. I hope you all know how much you mean to me, how much your friendship matters, and how much I appreciate you.

Thank you to John, my hero team partner, the loml. With so much right now not going *quite* as planned, our love and relationship so outweighs it all.

Thank you to my sister- and brother-in-law, K. and D. I can't even know how to repay your or to properly show gratitude for everything you are doing for me/us. I did not see communal living as being a part of my life again, but you make it wonderful with your love, humor, our nephew, food, the cats Pepin and Jax and dog Toby, and the shared joys of hanging out in the basement watching Game of Thrones and eating all of the sugar in the house.

Thank you to each of you. Your messages just to let me know you are thinking of me (emojis and texts are absolutely welcomed), your fluffy cat belly fur photos, videos of other people's animals doing amusing or cute things, your smiling babies (bonus for babies + cats, thanks to my dear friend A.!), your calls to rant about your job, your career advice, the people you have connected me with who have shared my experience with cancer, poring over potential pixie cuts and creating Pinterest boards for me, coming with me to get my hair chopped, offering your emotional support day or night, offering rides to appointments, offering to share my news with others so I can take a break, and to everyone who has sent your generous gifts. Thank you, R. and D. for the awesome and delicious reminder of home with the box(!) of sausages from Kramarczuk's! Thanks to my mom for making a trip to visit me, and for sending me delicious homemade/canned tomatoes from her own garden (see photo below).
I am prepping for chemo, and so many friends and family have made it possible for me to walk into it with warm, stylish sweaters (thank you so much, Thompson twins!), several vegan and vegetarian cookbooks (thank you, Aunt B.!), an adorable fish-shaped heating pad (thank you, Aunt L.!), a gift subscription to Popsugar boxes (thank you, K.!), gorgeous and gentle face lotions and masks, and the most comfortable pajama pants ever (thank you, M.!), and cozy smartwool socks, delicious herbal tea, soothing ginger chews, and much more to round out my "chemo bag" (a huge thank you to J.!), and much more that I will be showcasing here as I post about treatment... I have an incredible community of friends and I love and adore you.

Look at these delicious tomatoes about to be made into veggie bolognese!

How You Can Help

Some people have asked how they can help, and the answer is-- send your love, however suits you. Be you.

Communicate

Text, Snapchat, email, snail mail-- but please do communicate. No need to stress about saying the right thing or worrying about getting me at the right time (I put my phone on Do Not Disturb if I’m sleeping). And please. You can still tell me all about your problems. It’s often a welcome distraction!

I am especially fond of pictures of your children, your pets or animals in general, random amusing observances throughout your day...

If you are in the D.C. area, I am also free for lunches, brunches, dinners, etc. so please do reach out.

Contribute

You are welcome to contribute in my name to Triple Negative Breast Cancer research here.  

Come to Chemo

Come to chemo with me! I swear it will be fun (not really, I have heard it is mostly boring and chilly). But we can use the time to catch up, look at terrible television or magazines, play games to help combat "chemo brain", or do actual work because there is free wifi available. These will take place on Fridays, from about 10:00am-2:00pm. If this seems like something you’d be interested in, message me to learn more.

Calendar
I have a Google calendar set up with all of my appointments. If you would like to be added, message me. (Note: This calendar is called "Khaleesi," which if you are not aware is a Game of Thrones reference and is intended to channel this character's brave, unburnt, do-gooder style of leadership. And really, I am not going to call it "cancer calendar." No.)

Selected quote:

"Well. Maybe you'll get a new set of perky boobs!" --M.

Answers to FAQ

Cancer sucks, and it can really freak everyone out. People literally whisper to each other when learning about a friend or colleague's news of a cancer diagnosis. I know because I was one of them. And it's totally human to have that reaction. You don't know how they are doing, are they going to die, where is the cancer, what is the treatment, is there a treatment, will they become weak and scary-looking? Will I ask the wrong question and inadvertently make them feel bad? I want to help make this all a little less uncomfortable and less mysterious for you, reader.

Answers to FAQ:

• I have been diagnosed with Triple Negative Breast Cancer (TNBC) and I am between Stage 2b and Stage 3a. (edit: my records do say Stage 3a. However, Onc. Dr. F. said it "could be" Stage 2, but it doesn't matter so much right now as what it is at the end of chemo and before surgery.") 
• Thankfully, it has not spread to a second location (huge sigh of relief here, people). However, it is in the lymph, which means the little baddies (cancer cells) are floating about willy nilly. This is why we start with chemo-- we are going after those jerks first. 
• I discovered the lump on my own (PSA: humans with breasts, please be diligent about checking your breasts regularly. Be a warrior and face it head on, always.) It is in my right breast, and it is not super small (~4cm). Quote my friend K., "OF COURSE it is in the right one. It's ALWAYS the Right's fault!" 
• It does not run in my family, though I am awaiting genetic testing results. 
• I have amazing health insurance through John-- thank you, labor unions! 
• I will lose my hair. Possibly eyebrows/lashes, too. 
• But I will have a wig (or two), and I am determined to have fun with this. Also, hats. 
• A huge thank you to my long-time hairstylist/artist and dear friend, T., for her help on procuring and styling my future wig. 
• In the meantime, I have chopped a cool 10 inches of hair off and I am rocking a darling pixie these days. 
• Although I have not yet begun treatment, I am consistently told to expect to be able to live a mostly normal life. I will likely experience some fatigue, but most side-effects will be fairly easily mitigated (with other drugs such as steroids, anti-nausea medicine). 
• Every person going through treatment has their own story and is impacted differently. 
• We are living with my sister- and brother-in-law and 4 year old nephew in northern VA. They have incredibly and generously insisted that we now stay throughout my treatment so that they may provide extra support for both of us. (I have insisted that they always have an out, because while this is all manageable it is also A LOT. Additionally, I am known to be independent af so this will be a growing experience in vulnerability and such for me as well.) 
• My treatment: 
• I am participating in an Immunotherapy clinical trial, which is helpful for many reasons including putting one more tool back on the table for me. It has been blowing people away with its successful treatment of other cancers. (President Jimmy Carter apparently had Immunotherapy?) I am near finalizing all of the details and will likely begin chemo on Friday of this week. (The trial is standard chemo treatment, + Immunotherapy (or saline placebo). I start on Friday, September 29. 
• After a bunch of chemo, I will have surgery. Not sure yet on lumpectomy/mastectomy but I can guess which and I am okay with it. This is probably March 2018? 
• Then radiation. 
• Then a final round of Immunotherapy (or saline placebo). 

I may have missed some, so please let me know by messaging me here in the comments or by traditional methods such as Snapchat.

Selected quote:

"OF COURSE it is in the right one. It's ALWAYS the Right's fault!" --K.

I am the Warrior (What is Triple Negative Breast Cancer?)

What is Triple Negative Breast Cancer (TNBC)?

From the Triple Negative Breast Cancer Foundation: 

"These subtypes of breast cancer are generally diagnosed based upon the presence, or lack of, three “receptors” known to fuel most breast cancers: estrogen receptors, progesterone receptors and human epidermal growth factor receptor 2 (HER2). The most successful treatments for breast cancer target these receptors.

Unfortunately, none of these receptors are found in women with triple negative breast cancer. In other words, a triple negative breast cancer diagnosis means that the offending tumor is estrogen receptor-negative, progesterone receptor-negative and HER2-negative, thus giving rise to the name “triple negative breast cancer.” On a positive note, this type of breast cancer is typically responsive to chemotherapy. Because of its triple negative status, however, triple negative tumors generally do not respond to receptor targeted treatments. Depending on the stage of its diagnosis, triple negative breast cancer can be particularly aggressive, and more likely to recur than other subtypes of breast cancer."

To break it down, here are some plusses and negatives about TNBC:

• It's aggressive, meaning the cells are rapidly dividing. (-)
• The cells are rapidly dividing, which means that chemo is extremely effective. (+) 
• It means that some treatment options won't work for me, so I have fewer treatment options. (-) 
• It is an increasingly common breast cancer diagnosis for younger women, like me, and they don't know why. (+) (edit: this is probably more neutral than a plus?)
• Recurrence of cancer post-treatment is common. (-)
• Once past the 5 year cancer-free mark (~June 2023 for me), it becomes much less common to have recurrence-- far less than for those with regular breast cancer. (+) 
• The symbol for TNBC is literally 3 pink ribbons in a row. (-) 

Due to the rapidly-dividing cancer cells, and thus chemotherapy's extreme effectiveness, my treatment will begin with chemo (versus a lumpectomy or mastectomy, which is how more common breast cancers will begin treatment).

After chemo, I will take a few weeks off to let the drugs get out of my system and to do evaluative tests before surgery. I do not know yet the extent of my surgery (but I can imagine what it will be and I am okay with it).

After surgery comes radiation, which I am told is akin to spending the day at the beach with your skin exposed to the sun (naturally my response here was, "Oh, so radiation will be like a day at the beach!" I have been since disabused of this notion.).

And finally, I will round it all out with a few more weeks of chemo. Actually, I am participating in a clinical trial for Immunotherapy, so I may or may not be having this drug, or a saline-solution placebo, infusion throughout and at the end. I will post more about Immunotherapy in a later post.

Selected quote:

"Well that is a kick in the teeth." -- S. 

What's Up (Some Tough News)

Over the past couple of weeks, I have slowly been sharing my tough news with individual family members and friends. It can be exhausting, so please forgive me if this is how you are learning that I was recently diagnosed with breast cancer.

If you know me, you likely are aware that writing is my best medium for processing, so I have decided to join the blogging ranks as a way to do so and also to share information (both useful and useless, to be sure) about my breast cancer experiences. Please consider yourself warned that I will be talking about anatomy (specifically, breasts). 

If you know me, you might also be aware that I do not do "average," so naturally I would have a special kind, or subtype, of cancer that is known as "triple negative." Triple negative is deceptive in that it makes you think (if you don't know any better) that it is a good thing. "Woo-hoo! Triple! Negative! On a medical test result!" But now I know better so I can share with you, dear reader, that it is perhaps not a good thing; at best, a mixed bag.  

Before I go into further detail about my diagnosis (which I will do in my next post), I do want to assure you that a) I have excellent doctors, and b) they are very, very positive about my treatment being a success. (Quote one doc, "It won't be the Fall that you had in mind.") In fact, it has been a small ego boost to so consistently hear about how young and healthy I am. (I am working on getting them to add "fabulous" to this list.) They have also assured me that I will be able to live a mostly normal* life. My surgeon, Dr. V., gave me several examples of patients that he is treating who also have triple negative breast cancer and who are active and working. I have been told that treatment has come so far in recent years that they are able to largely eliminate much of those well-known side-effects such as nausea, fatigue, and the need to avoid crowds for fear of germs. Dr. V. shared with us that one of his patients is a working kindergarten teacher (think of that petri dish of germs!). 

As many of you are also aware, we recently moved (back) to the D.C. area. I had been working as a political consultant in Minnesota, and was deep in the process of a job search here. I have enjoyed reconnecting with old friends and colleagues all summer, a process which I put on hold initially after learning that I would have several tests to get through before we had a full picture of my health status and treatment plan. I still have many people with whom I have not had the chance to reconnect, and I hope that we can plan something soon. 

In terms of my job search, I do plan to shift course a little and to seek project/contract or part-time work rather than full-time with an organization, at least through the end of 2017. Flexible scheduling will be helpful, as I will have chemo each Friday until mid-December, when I will move to a schedule of just once every 3 weeks. I am incredibly lucky to be married to a member of a labor union and thus I have excellent health insurance benefits (I will definitely be writing more about health care in later posts). Please note that I can and must work. Medical professionals have encouraged it-- frankly it is important for mental well-being to remain an active member of society and to maintain a mostly normal life during this horribly abnormal time.

I will get through this successfully with love, humor, a mostly plant-based diet plus a ton of prescribed drugs, and with the amazing people supporting me. Thanks for being one of them. I love you. I will beat this.

*Please note that I use the word "normal" here to reference my personal normal way of living. This word is often loaded with default-laden meanings and interpretations, and I in no way am leaning into that; simply a way to describe that I will be functioning mostly or almost-nearly at my regular levels.

Selected quote:

"It won't be the Fall that you had in mind." -- Dr. H.

#whatimreading