Writer’s Heaven

I’m currently sitting in the Bryant University library on a break from the writing retreat that I’m participating in today and tomorrow. The retreat invites interested faculty and staff to come together to work on personal/academic writing projects. The group consists primarily of professors working on research for textbooks and research papers for conferences. I was surprised to see that there were a fair number of faculty and staff working on creative projects, novels, poetry, etc. I thought I would be the only one working on a creative project as I’m focusing on narrative non-fiction.

The structure of the retreat it pretty liberating. We have from 8am-9pm today and 8am-4pm tomorrow to work totally independently and undisturbed on our projects. A full day of uninterrupted writing during the work day is what dreams are made of! As an added bonus there is a continuous flow of meals, coffee, and snacks. You really can’t beat it.

I had the opportunity to sit down with one of the writing faculty today to consult about my writing project. She was incredibly encouraging and had some great insights to increase the reader’s connectedness to the story I am telling. I felt that after that meeting I really went outside of my comfort zone and incorporated elements into my writing style that enhance the piece without losing my voice. Writing in a way that I wouldn’t otherwise. So far this has been a pretty transformative experience.

It’s funny that I hit a writing wall and decided to use my break to write in the blog…

Go figure.

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Overall this experience has been a reminder how cathartic written expression can be. I ventured to write about subjects that have not yet been introduced to the blog and may never even be seen here. I forced myself to deconstruct experiences that have otherwise been shoved to the back of the mental closet.

I can’t wait to see what comes of it. You know, like Ellen inviting me on her show to discuss my New York Times Best Seller (a girl can dream right?).

Drip Drop

For those fellow Empire fans out there, as I told my boss, seeing my IV immediately triggers “drip, drop, drip, drippity, drop” In my head. You’re quite welcome for now getting it stuck in your head.

So a couple brief updates:

1.) My cousin Sara gets married TOMORROW. I’m even more excited because my one and only big broski is not only going to be there but he is also officiating the wedding. ❤

2.) I volunteered again for The Izzy Foundation in the Izzy Room at Hasbro Children’s hospital last night. They had an ice cream party/improv night and it was a blast!

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I’m glad that Chris could see the Izzy Room in action because he is running a 1/2 marathon and chose The Izzy Foundation to raise funds for. Here are your donation dollars at work!

Now that I’m functioning under a more tolerable trestment, I’d like to spend more time in the Izzy Room. There is no amount of money that could equate to how happy I am when I’m there. Being in a hospital blows, period. I’m so glad that the children’s hospital has a safe, fun, space for kids to just be kids. A great refuge for parents as well!

3.) My CA-125 is down another 1000! Currently sitting at 1184 after two full cycles (6 consecutive weeks) of treatment. I started at over 4000 prior to treatment plan #3 starting.

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This benadryl fueled selfie (benadrelfie?) Semi-captures my excitement…OK or maybe it just captures a doofy stare and a VERY overtired/medicated cancer crusher. Tomato-tomahto.

I’ll leave you on an entertaining note by recapping a conversation with my trainer because it made me giggle:

Matt: if you could have any super power what could it be?

Me: Um, time travel I think. What about y-

Matt: SPATULA HANDS

…may you all be blessed with a great week and spatula hands.

Still Swimming

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Today marks the end of cycle #2.As fellow cancer crusher Andrew McMahon describes in one of my favorite songs, ‘Swim’, I’m happy to say that I’m still keeping my head above water.

As an aside, I’ve been thinking a lot about the music I gravitate toward depending on my mood- down or elated. Normally there is a vast difference between the two. Sometimes you just need emotionally dense music to extract the pain or fear that you’re experiencing. Other times if you’re feeling good you want to tap into the uplifting messages of the piece. The song ‘Swim’ by Jack’s Mannequin oddly satisfies both needs. The imagery of feeling lost in an ocean against a current is a perfect representation of helplessness and fear of not surviving the struggle. It also paints a portrait of pushing through adversity and clinging to hope that the challenge will be overcome.

I wrote a post a few months ago referencing this song. The post was pretty dark in comparison to this one as emotionally I was in a raw and vulnerable place. The trial was wearing on me and I was feeling consumed by this disease and the implications of treating it. I find it funny that I can turn around and reference the same piece of music to represent current feelings of control and optimism.

Hats & wigs off to you Andrew McMahon! I’m proud to say that I’m still swimming.

Now that my mushy music spiel is out of the way…

Thanks to Jacque for waking up at the crack of dawn (on her day off) to accompany me to my oncology check-up AND chemo. We’re clearly just pumped to be here:

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Surprisingly I still have my hair! I’m shedding like a golden retriever but the thinning isn’t noticeable to anyone else just yet. In fact, when Dr. Robison walked into the room today and the first thing she said was: “YOU HAVE HAIR!”

After much consideration I have decided to hit up my friends at the Ky Michaels Salon next week for a cut and color. I’ve gone back and forth with if it is worth it to invest in hair that is just going to fall out. Although the smart thing to do would be investing that money in my 401K or something sensible, I figure if it’s going to fall out let’s have it go out with a bang. I want to look good for my cousin’s wedding on June 5th. If my hair could just make it until then, this will basically be me every day:

My doc’s visit brought all good news:

  • Platelet count is good
  • Kidney function good
  • Blood pressure normal (Avastin tends elevate it, so this is something we keep an eye on)
  • Weight is up by another pound
  • No neuropathy in hands or feet
  • CA-125 as we recapped in the last entry is down by about 50%. We love this one!

Next week starts cycle #3 so on Wednesday I will have a blood test for an update CA-125. I’m exciting to see more progress.

Side effects are still minimal:

  • Fatigue
  • Little bumps on hands and arms that are occasionally itchy. Rosa said that this is common with Taxol and didn’t seem to be worried about it. She recommended putting sunscreen on them more frequently as heat/sun can irritate it even if you’re just driving.
  • Nose bleeds. They aren’t gushers or anything but I regularly get nosebleeds, mostly at night and in the morning (probably because the air in my apartment is dry). Oddly enough, the resident explained that the nosebleeds could be because my nose hair is also falling out. Weird right?

Overall I’m still pleased with this treatment choice. Always listen to your instincts.

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Have a great weekend friends 🙂

Cycle #1- Donezo

Oh hey there friends! As of this past Friday I have completed my first full cycle of the new treatment. Each full cycle is three weeks of treatment: Week #1: Avastin & Taxol (3-4 hour infusion) Week #2: Taxol Only (2 … Continue reading

So far, so good

Hello there friends, so we are 2/3 of the way through my first cycle of chemo. This week was even easier than last week’s infusion since it was roughly 2 hours shorter. Gone are the days of 9 hour infusions, THANK YOU LAWD.

This week I was infused with Taxol only. Taxol is the drug that I am receiving weekly. Taxol is the weekly chemo part of this dynamic duo while the other is an antibody received on the first day of every three week cycle. Last week I only felt crummy on Sunday and had some mild stomach “yuck” but aside from that I was generally okay. I do anticipate a cumulative effect where I may grow a bit more fatigued or worn out over time but so far, so good.

Yesterday’s infusion consisted of about 45 minutes of IV a pre-drugs: Zantac, Steroids, and my personal favorite- Benadryl. The steroids would explain why I feel like a million bucks the day after treatment. I wished the lasted a little longer, I could probably climb Kilimanjaro with the energy it gives me. Mom and Dad stayed with me until the Benadryl started to take me into nappy dreamland. They kindly used the next hour to go to my apartment and clean for me! What gems. I mean, how did I get so lucky? There is nothing like coming home to sparking floors and countertops especially when performed with such love. Thanks Mom and Dad! After an hour of Taxol we were all done. In and out in no time.

Today I woke up feeling pretty good. So far I’ve treated myself to breakfast at the Wayland Diner and stuffed my face with eggs, fruit, toast and turkey bacon. On that note I have been absolutely RAVENOUS in the past week or so. My appetite found its way home! The thought of food for the better part of the last year made me physically ill and eating it also made me physically ill…hence my current double digit weight. I’m still within my BMI but really cutting it close on the lower end. That being said I’m bulking for bikini season. No one needs to see skeletor at the beach. I’m sure that my nutritionist will be quite pleased to hear that I’m happily shoving all sorts of foods down my pie hole.

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When my doctor was researching treatment options for me she was very fixated on creating a much better quality of life than what I’ve had in the past. I honestly get a little choked up as I reflect on this because even though it’s only been a week I already see a vast difference in how I feel both physically and emotionally. This past year was plagued by constant illness and depression and this spring has opened a much more optimistic chapter. I finally feel like I have the ability to be well. For a while I became pretty jaded and lost the hope that I was capable of going into remission. I can’t fully explain why but I’ve restored my faith in this process. Even though it’s still a shitty thing to have to experience, it’s somehow better. I have high hopes that in a few months when we look at my next scan that we will see some progress.

I’m going to wrap this up with a couple shout outs:

Happy 30th birthday to the beautiful, talented, sassy, amazing, best nurse-navigator that ever lived- Sheila Enderby! I hope you enjoyed your party and amazing Prince cake.

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Happy birthday also goes out to a beautiful nugget that I have yet to meet- Karly Jae born yesterday to proud parents Joanna and Kyle. You are going to be amazing parents to this little girl! (If you need a break Uncle Cory, Uncle Sam, Auntie Alicia, Uncle Hudson and I will totally babysit and spoil the crap out of her)

Enjoy your weekends everyone!

Infused with love…and antibodies…and chemo (but mostly love)

Holy moly I am feeling the love! Usually I end my entries with the appreciation I have for those cheering me on. I still receive daily messages from family, friends and supporters from all over the globe. It is that encouragement that helps me to continue this fight. Thank you for your unconditional kindness.

The love fest continued yesterday at the Women and Infants infusion center. It was like coming home.

I was lucky to be joined by the ever handsome and supportive Cory Tysoe. He came up to Rhodey the night before and we enjoyed taco Thursday (doesn’t sound as good as Taco Tuesday) followed up by a documentary inspired by this YouTube sensation: Winnebago Man (aka “The Angriest Man on Earth”)

The documentary was essentially a result of Netflix Roulette. A little offbeat but worth a watch if you want to see the impact of becoming a viral internet sensation.

As you can see the evening before new chemo wasn’t tense or worrisome. We just went about out night, a rare midweek dinner date at home, and I adored it.

The next morning while I pulled myself together (put on sweatpants) Cory made breakfast because he’s a stud. After breakfast we packed up my infusion supplies (phone chargers, a cozy blanket, books, etc.) and made the 1.9 mile journey to W&I. ONE POINT NINE MILES. Beats the hell out of the 2 hour commute to and from Boston.

My former chemo nurse Sheila is now my nurse navigator and straight hooked me up at the infusion center. She got me a room with a BED! I only had that once in my previous IV infusion experience. It is a rare treat, especially when you’re receiving Benadryl pre-drugs (right Jen?).

My new chemo nurse was at a conference so Sheila set me up with “boss lady” Heather (Sheila’s words, not mine). “Boss lady” has been in women’s oncology for over 17 years and she was amazing! When she accessed my port I barely felt it and her bedside manner was unparalleled. She had a sunny disposition and made sure that Cory and I were comfortable. I am a major fan of her. I’m also a fan of the fact that her and Sheila are working on assigning Rosa as my regular chemo nurse. Rosa treated me previously as well as my friend Jen. I adore her and I’m happy to be seeing her again.

I’ve talked about this a lot in my blog before but I have to stress what a strong sense of community WIH has. Everyone remembers you from the front desk to the phlebotomist to the nutritionist to nurses you didn’t even have! All of the aforementioned people popped in my room to say hello. They weren’t pleased that I had to come back but I did feel the warm welcome. I think that it gave Cory some peace of mind to see me surrounded by such loving and positive people.

I’m painting a rosey picture here but the reality is that no one looks forward to chemo infusions. What I can speak honestly about is that I look forward to the warmth felt in this particular infusion center. It turns a crappy situation into an experience not quite as bad.

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Even though Sheila works in the main building now, she stopped by in the afternoon to say hello. I was deep into my Benadryl nap and I felt someone jump on top of me. In true Sheila fashion she climbed into bed to give me a big hug and say hello. This would only be weird if it wasn’t her.

Overall the infusion went well. We were only there for about 4 hours (in comparison to my previous 8-10 hour stints). I was also told that I will be there for even less time in future infusions, maybe 2 hours max? Honestly, once the Benadryl hit my veins it was all over. I fell fast asleep and only woke up periodically when the IV pump beeped to switch over to the next drug. Poor Cory sat in the dark room for hours answering work emails while I passed out.

When it was all over I was famished and had an undeniable craving for Harry’s Burger bar. So Harry’s it was! I housed two sliders and some fries then immediately went home and took another 4 hour nap. I woke up around 8pm to my darling washing dishes and tidying up the kitchen. Seriously where did I find this man?! (Thank you for being born Sam Favata, without last year’s birthday celebration I would be Cory-less). Cory made me a cup of tea and we cozied up on the couch and watched hours of Top Gear. Another perfect evening at home.

Aside from feeling tired I generally felt well after the infusion. It wasn’t until almost midnight when I went to lay down and was overcome with nausea. Unfortunately I threw up. I don’t believe it was a result of the chemo though, it was probably gorging myself with burgers and fries then topping that off with some Ensure plus. Too much for my little tum tum.

Today I feel perfectly normal so I’ll say that new chemo thus far is a success! Let’s hope that it’s killing tumors so I can really call it a success in a few months.

Next week I will be joined by my lovely parents so they can see first hand how well I’m being cared for 🙂 In the meantime I return to normal life. Today I’m popping by the Izzy Room at Hasbro Children’s Hospital to see my dear friend Sarah pull off the greatest disney party of all time for the little patients and their families. Tomorrow I have the honor and pleasure of attending my cousin’s bridal shower and visiting with family in Connecticut. Monday- back to work.

I want to thank everyone again from the bottom of my heart for the love and support. Every drop of it is internalized and greatly needed.

Fight on.

All systems go: A new treatment plan in motion

What a day, nay- what a week.

At work we are in the midst of the course registration frenzy. During this time there are a lot of time sensitive concerns, a high volume of varying needs, and general stress. On top of that all I can think about all week is:

1.) I need to stop hacking a lung or I might turn myself inside out.

2.) What treatment plan will provide for me the best quality of life

3.) Pizza (because pizza is usually at the forefront of my mind).

My supervisors and colleagues have been very sensitive to my recent and ongoing challenges and stepped up in a huge way to ensure that I could rest my body and ease my mind. I didn’t realize just how necessary it was to just decompress until I got home, got into bed, and felt all my insides just ache.

STILL Fixing a Broken Squeaker:

Today was a big day. First of all, the coughing has gotten out of hand and although I had some relief after the thoracentesis, I underwent a second this morning. After performing an ultrasound on both lungs they determined that the left side was STILL worse than the right side and they again drained from the left side.

No Farva, that’s not Liter-Cola, it’s another full liter of my tumor juice.

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Sheila, my now fancy nurse-navigator, was a doll and went with me to observe the procedure and wiped the tears from my eyes and goopy nose while I periodically whimpered. The PA that performed the procedure was VERY good and although it was still a difficult procedure to endure, it wasn’t as traumatizing as the first time.

There is still some fluid boppin’ around in there but I can certainly breathe even better now. Slowly, we’re making progress. I just pray to the good heavens above that I don’t have to have this procedure done again anytime soon. Two in one week is enough torture.

The Treatment Plan:

Prior to draining the pleural effusion from my chest, I met with Dr. Robison to carefully weigh out all of the treatment options we have in front us. After great consideration, we agreed that we would try pairing Avastin (an antibody) and Taxol (a commonly used chemotherapy that I’ve had previously). There is research to suggest that Avastin in combination with Taxol yields more promising results than Avastin alone. The decision to start with a chemo-combination as opposed to Avastin on its own was also heavily influenced by the amount of fluid that has been collecting in my chest. The Taxol should do a good job of drying that up. Eventually we will be able to taper off the chemo and only use Avastin. I do not have a timeline for this.

The up-sides:

  • Will provide good quality of life
  • Minimal side effects
  • I DON’T have to take it at home (it will be an outpatient infusion)
  • Treatment will occur at Women and Infant’s in Providence (less than a mile from my apartment)
  • I already know that I tolerate Taxol well

Moderate-Bummers:

  • At least for the first few months I will need infusions once per week (still not as bad as the first time)
  • I may lose my hair again. But even so- I know I have a nice round head and in the grand scheme of things feeling well trumps having hair.

With all of that being said we are wasting no time! My first treatment begins next Friday and I plan to be there with the ever handsome and delightful Cory Tysoe. Little does he know that he will just have to just watch me pass the eff out once they toss some Benedryl in the IV (Benedryl naps for life!). Cory- you should probably bring a book…

So in short, it’s been a BIG week of mixed experiences and emotions but I’m still full of fire and will do everything I can to claim my life as my own and NOT cancer’s chew toy.

Mom, Dad, Adam, Cory, family, and friends (I’d be typing names for decades, sorry). Thank you for always having my back, always believing in my ability to be well, and helping me to navigate and endure the ups and downs of this disease.

So much gratitude…

Jess

How to fix a broken squeaker

Cory always has a way of lightening the mood in the midst of something unpleasant. After one of my many recent coughing/gasping for air fits he put on a very serious face, nodded, and said: “Well, you’ve got a broken squeaker. You’ll have to get that fixed.” Toy Story 2 clearly and adorably illustrates how real the struggle is.

Today I had an appointment with radiology to fix my broken squeaker otherwise known as pleural effusion. Pleural effusion is when fluid collects between the chest wall and lungs. In my case, tumors are the cause of this fluid buildup. The medical term for “fixing a broken squeaker” is a thoracentesis.

First, an ultrasound technician came in and did an ultrasound of my left lung. Since I had to face away from the screen she was kind enough to freeze frame it so I could see the fluid pocket. I blankly stared at the ultrasound for a minute because all I saw was a tiny part of my lung then a whole mess of blank black space. It turns out that all of the black space was the fluid. Whoops.

I’ve got to be honest I’m no wimp but for some reason this procedure really freaked me out. I’ve had a paracentesis when I was first diagnosed but that fluid came from my abdomen. This time it was drawn from between my ribs through my back and I couldn’t see what was happening. Here is a fun little diagram to show how it goes down:

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There were a lot of people in this tiny room. We had two PA’s, an ultrasound tech, and a medical imaging student observing. They were all very kind and supportive but I was still pretty nervous. Once everyone was in their places the actual procedure did not take especially long but it SUCKED.

First the PA inserted a needle between my rib cage and injected me with lidocaine to numb the area. The needle itself was fine, just a pinch, but the pressure of the needle in my back didn’t feel great. I started to get even more nervous after they numbed me and I cried, of course, because I’m a big cry baby. After that they made a small incision and inserted a catheter into my back. Once we started draining the fluid I was a little more at ease. There was a jar next to me and I sat and watched while it filled to the brim with yellowish/brown fluid. They then removed the catheter and put a bandage on the drain site.

This next part I was warned about but it was still incredibly unsettling. Once the fluid was drained I began to cough quite a bit and I felt immense pressure in my chest when I tried to inhale. This was probably the most uncomfortable/scariest part for me. I was coughing and coughing and had a really hard time catching my breath. The medical imaging student coached me through my tears/coughs and got me back into the rhythm of breathing through my nose and out of my mouth in small breaths. The reason this happens is because the lung has been compressed with fluid for so long and once the fluid is removed the lung will be able to slowly fill with air. This creates a lot of chest pressure and discomfort until the lung is again fully inflated.

The end result of today’s thoracentesis was an extraction of ONE LITER of fluid. That’s right, a liter on my left side only. They didn’t even drain the right side. According to the National Heart, Lung and Blood institute there should be about 4 table spoons of fluid in that cavity. Yikes.

Thank goodness it’s all done with. Now I can take a fuller breath and hopefully will sleep easier without so much pressure on my lungs.

On Friday I will be meeting with Dr. Robison to review the next series of treatment plan options. I’m looking forward to getting this in motion so we can start to crush this cancer again.

On a much brighter note I must acknowledge the fabulous weekend I had. In anticipation of the thoracentesis and finding a new treatment plan I’ve been pretty on edge. This weekend I was able to kick back and relax in good company. Cory came down on Friday night for dinner and we had a nice low-key evening after a very long week. The next day Jac came to visit so we picked her up at the train station and had lunch together so her and Cory could finally meet. The rest of the weekend was strictly girl time: mani/pedi’s, tea, burritos, a drag show, brunch, and a walk by the Bristol Harbor water front. All in all, it was exactly what I needed to take my mind off of my (now-fixed) squeaker.

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One chapter closes, another begins

*Dusts off keyboard*

It has been a few weeks since I have written, mainly because I just wanted to focus on my chemocation and take it all in. As promised in the last entry I basically ate everything. Pizza, Thai Food, Indian Food, Salads…you name it, I probably inhaled it (and didn’t throw it up).

The past few weeks were spent processing and agonizing over my next steps. Would I go to Boston on April 7th and accept a dose reduction or would I throw in the towel? As each day that I felt more like myself passed, I could not possibly imagine going back to that trial. Despite MGH’s stellar care, this trial was just no longer for me. By yesterday morning I had my answer and I was sticking to it.

My parents came with me to this appointment. I often like going to appointments alone but on that day I needed them to help me hold it together. Plus, a bonus was not having to drive myself through Boston rush hour traffic. The carpool lane shaved off at least 30 minutes and preserved the remaining scraps of my sanity.

I first had an echocardiogram (aka gooey hospital nap) then we headed up to 9E Yawkey to meet with oncology. Tina was the first to stop in the exam room. She gave me a big hug and kiss and asked how I was doing. At that point I decided it was safe to just say it: “I think I’m done. No, I know I’m done. I’m done.” Tina has been with me through the successes and the hardships of the past year. She knows that if I say that I’ve had enough, that I’ve really had enough. Like our phone call from last month, she was supportive and said she would give Dr. Birrer a heads up.

Laura came in next and took a few vials of blood from my chest port then we anxiously awaited for Dr. Birrer to arrive. When he came in, I reiterated to him what I had said to Tina. He was very understanding of my position and without being pushy, initially offered me the option to dose reduce one last time if I wanted to. I was not in favor of another dose reduction as in my head, I had already broken up with this trial. At that point the CT scan results were not yet ready so we sat and waited in the exam room for a bit longer. I quietly stared at the walls and floor, my mom tried to make light conversation, I was just too nervous to engage. All I wanted to know was what is happening inside of my body.

Finally, Dr. Birrer came back with the scan results. In a nutshell, they were a bit of a mixed bag. A few things were reported to us:

1.) The tumors that were present at the beginning of the study were measured to be substantially smaller than when we started. This is great news because it tells me that we made some progress and the entire last year was not a waste.

2.) The fluid-filled cyst in my abdomen is still there, we still have no idea what it is and how it got there. *Shrugs*

3.) There is a small amount of fluid in my abdomen and some fluid buildup surrounding my lungs (NOT in the lungs, luckily). I’ve been very short of breath lately with a wicked dry cough so this explains a lot. Dr. Birrer said that my hospital could certainly stick a needle in there and drain the fluid. That shall be on my to-do list for the next few weeks because this whole shortness of breath thing has GOT to go.

4.) They found “progressive disease” which I take as doctor speak for new tumors. New very small tumors were found on my liver and abdominal wall. Crap.

Interestingly enough, even though I initially was quitting the study, the trial’s protocol states that if progressive disease (new tumor) is found, the patient’s trial must end automatically. So either way, the trial was done even if I didn’t want to quit.

I’m not happy that new tumors have developed and I think I’m still processing this news. I’m at ease with it right now but it will probably hit me in a few days. Most likely in a public restaurant with Cory, that’s where I do all of my best crying…poor guy. The silver lining of this news is that I can leave the study, as I wanted to, with absolutely no regrets. Since the study had to stop I no longer had the choice to continue at a reduced dose. I won’t look back in six months and think: “did I make the right choice? What if I had toughed it out just a little longer?” The decision was made for me and I can walk away feeling good about the work we did in Boston, despite its hardships.

So where do we go from here? On April 17th I have an appointment with Dr. Robison in Providence. We will discuss some of the options that we have on the table and start the process of making an informed decision about the best course of action. Until then, I have no further information.

I will use the next few days to work, eat well, spend time with friends, and get beat up by my super mean trainer (kidding, he’s the only reason I deadlift without dying myself.)

I want to take this opportunity to thank the folks at Mass General Hospital. Dr. Birrer, Dr. Dizon, Tina, Laura, Ali, Daph, and even sweet Blanca at the front desk. We have been through a lot together over the past year with this clinical trial and despite the challenges this team made me feel deeply cared about. It was very hard for me to leave WIH, a hospital I loved so much, but I learned that I was put in the most loving and capable hands in Boston.

I also want to thank everyone that supported me from near and far over the past year. It has been a wild and mostly unpleasant ride. As always, the love and support has kept me going and will continue to as we face this next treatment plan.

Love and gratitude 🙂

TREAT YO’ SELF: Being your own advocate

I feel compelled to follow up on my last entry Questioning Quality of Life because today I received a phone call that put me at ease. Actually, being put at ease sounds too calm, I was elated.

As I had discussed in my previous entry I sent an email to my medical team in Boston and in so many far more polite and eloquent words said: I’m sick ALWAYS, this sucks, dose reduction or bust (mic drop).

The MGH team was quickly responsive and not only did they listen, they made it clear that they empathized with me. Tina, one of my biggest cheerleaders on the team, told me that it made no sense to push me through three more weeks of feeling atrocious everyday until the next appointment. They kindly granted me a three- week chemocation. You heard me. THREE WEEKS. 

The plan is to reconvene in Boston on April 7th, a week after my CT scan, and strategize moving forward. Either way, I’m being granted a dose reduction on one or both drugs.

This phone conversation was incredibly important for another reason. I, for the first time, revealed to her that I will be consulting with my oncologist in Providence to discuss alternative treatment plans as I am strongly considering leaving this trial and switching gears. It’s kind of like when you know you’re going to break up with someone and have talked to all of your friends about it but haven’t pulled the trigger because he’s SO nice. It’s nerve-wracking because you don’t want to ruffle feathers but you ultimately need to do what is best for you. (Cory this is NOT a subtle hint that we’re breaking up. You’re stuck with me.)

Again it was a big deal because this is the first time I have had the confidence to say this to the MGH folks. Don’t get me wrong, they are incredibly kind and supportive. They have my best interests at heart and no part of me thought that they bully me into staying with this treatment plan. That being said I half expected them to respond with some persuasive evidence to stick it out. Instead Tina’s response is what every patient wants and needs to hear from their healthcare provider: “your health and happiness is what is most important to us”. She expressed that it was a good idea to explore all possibilities. I left that conversation not just thinking but wholeheartedly knowing that my quality of life is just as important to them as it is to me. It’s not about the drug company, it’s not about money, it’s about patient well-being. Period.

Sometimes it is intimidating to question your doctors. I mean, they’re doctors right? I sure as hell didn’t go to medical school. But your intuition is powerful and important and should not be ignored. You can only “suck it up” so many times before your energy and spirit is depleted and you are left feeling utterly drained. If something is no longer right for you, it is perfectly acceptable to say: “Can we discuss alternatives?”. Frankly, the three week chemocation was just a bonus. What made me feel the best today was advocating for myself openly and honestly, and receiving feedback that validated my experience as a patient  person.

So what now? I am scheming all of the ways I can possibly maximize this three week chemocation. First priority, I am going to eat (and not throw up) SO many amazing foods.

Ultimately, the next three weeks will be very Parks and Rec inspired…