To be honest, when I was diagnosed chemo wasn’t even on my radar. Most of the people that I know of who were diagnosed with breast cancer had surgery and BAM they were better. When I went in to my first appointment at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center with another two biopsies under my belt and bandages all over, I assumed we’d be in and out with a date for my new breasties to be secured in place. Sloan Kettering is a very scary place from the outside and even more so on day 1, the amount of people coming and going is mindboggling and actually really sad. To see how many people are affected by this awful disease is heartbreaking. Cancer sucks and no one deserves to go through this.
After filling out several electronic documents before I arrived, as I came in I was handed another huge stack to fill out, one question that stood out to me was “What can the nurses do to make this easier?” I wrote “be comforting” because all I wanted was someone with a medical background to tell me that it was going to be fine, that I was going to be ok. In reality, all I wanted was to wake up from this nightmare that was lasting a little too long and my arm was getting a little too bruised from all the pinching. Now I’m not sure if my doctor’s nurse skipped over this portion of my paperwork or decided to take a handful of speed before she came through the door to the exam room but she was anything but comforting. Because I was getting examined we left my dad in the waiting room and it was just me and my mom sitting there clueless, silent, conjuring up insane scenarios of what was going to happen next. The PA busted through the doors like the Kool Aid Man with a giant smile on her face looking like she was about to tell me I won the lottery. Nope, not this time Kim. She immediately started rambling with this insane little smirk that I wanted to slap off her stupid pretty face; going on and on about how we must be so overwhelmed and it’s crazy that I’m so young and this is happening. Yea, no shit Sherlock are you new to the cancer business? I didn’t really assume people walked into Sloan throwing confetti in the air because they were just recently diagnosed. Now without even giving us any time to breathe or telling me about my biopsy results she immediately went into a new speech about how it’s time to freeze my eggs. Excuse me goldie locks, but I came in because I have cancer in my boobs, not my hoo-ha. “Well if the treatment route they decide to go with is chemo we suggest all patients take this additional step.” Ok, what now? I have cancer, confirmed, now I might have to get chemo AND freeze my eggs? I’m 26-years-old, did anyone forget that? Are you there God, it’s me Margaret. I was beyond taken back and I think my mom passed out for a few seconds with her eyes open. Speedy Gonzalez eventually left the room to give me some time to get dressed and a second to take everything in. The doctor finally came in along with my dad and she sat us down to explain the plan.
Unfortunately for me, that lump that Mary Katherine Gallagher led me to in the beginning had other plans for me. The biopsy of the lump under my armpit also came back cancerous and this left me in a not so great place. Since the cancer spread from my left breast to my left lymph node the treatment would be a little more complicated than just surgery. My breast surgeon needed to confer with my oncologist but she believed to shrink the lymph node the best route to take would be 16 weeks of chemo treatments every other week, then 3-4 weeks after the chemo is completed would be the surgery. I did not cry, and to my credit I did not cry much when I was in any of the several doctor’s offices I’ve been to. The doctors are there to give me the instructions and I will follow anything and everything until I’m better. I just don’t see what scream crying in front of them will accomplish other than the awkward pat on the hand I get when the tears start welling. I’ll wait until I get home to have my panic attack. My doctor did see the utter despair in my eyes when she said chemo and pretty much anticipated my next question. “Yes, you will lose your hair.” Ok, ok, keep it together, it’ll grow back.
From that moment three weeks ago until now I have had three major fears; the obvious one being that I’m going to lose my hair. I know it seems really small in the larger picture, and not to sound like those people I hate but, you won’t really understand it until it’s happening to you (and I hope it doesn’t). It’s the one thing that people will be able to see and know I’m sick. I get it, we see people all the time wearing wigs or scarves and we pretend it’s all fine but you can’t tell me you never do a double take. I don’t want to be that person that kids look at in the supermarket and say “mommy why doesn’t that girl have any hair.” I don’t even know how I would react to that; would I be a bigger person and run up to them and explain it and let them rub my head? Or run away and cry. It’s a scary thought and I still have my hair at this point, although it looks really ratchet and I should probably just buzz it off now for everyone’s sake. In the beginning, I was convinced that I was going to rock it and just be scarf lady, even went to the extent of telling my friends that’s what I wanted; “Send me scarves so I can think of you every time I wear it.” But as the days to treatment got closer I decided I didn’t want that. Have you ever pretended to be bald? Like even put your hands over your hair and looked into the mirror, it’s not cute. Now imagine that person staring back at you in the mirror with no eyebrows or eyelashes. WOAH, did you jump back a little? It’s scary. To make the transition a little easier I went wig shopping this week and I got two wigs which shockingly looked pretty good on me. It was very overwhelming but everyone made me feel so comfortable and supported. Now with my new wigs and some cute head scarves one of my fears didn’t seem so scary anymore.
Another fear that I’ve been struggling with is what I so adoringly like to refer to now as “fat arm.” No, this is not a medical term so do not try and google that. Because the cancer has spread to my lymph nodes there’s no way of doing surgery now without doing some long-term damage. Your lymph nodes are what drain the fluids out of your arm and keep everything circulating, without them your arm can get swollen which can be very uncomfortable and painful. This is why I have now deemed it “fat arm.” This is a condition that cannot be treated and you will never know when it could flare up. This is something I do not want, something that will be permanent and I will have to deal with for the next 60+ years of my life. This is why chemo is in the cards for lil ol’ Kim Clabby. They’re hoping they can shrink the lymph nodes so that only one will have to be removed and it will be less likely I’ll be dealing with this condition.
That fear leads into my greatest fear of all, that the cancer has spread EVERYWHERE. I know everyone keeps telling me that this isn’t the case, that it’s breast cancer and it’s not everywhere. As nice and supportive as this is it does does nothing to ease my fears. I wake up every day with the constant thought in the back of my head that every little ache or pain I feel is the cancer. If it already spread to my lymph node, what’s going to stop it from moving everywhere else? I doubt there’s a sign inside my armpit telling the cancer to stop until further notice and even if that was the case, I don’t think the cancer would listen. I was in the shower the other day and all of a sudden, my left middle finger felt jammed, and I was convinced it was knuckle cancer. Leave it to Kim Clabby to come up with the most obscure cancer to conjure up, but it felt so real. I know my fears will subside once the treatment starts because the chemo will hopefully obliterate every cancer cell in my body but until then I’m petrified. My doctor also said something that I never thought of before, because of the size of the cancer cells and how long cancer takes to show, this could have been in my system for up to 7 years. That is crazy to me, 7 years? I was just a 19-year-old disaster drinking her way through college then. Waking up for class hungover and crying over mean boys doesn’t seem so bad anymore.
I am beyond thankful I found it because that is the scariest part of all. If I had decided to just wait out the lump under my armpit and hope it went away who knows what could have happened. So, I urge you all to go to your doctor’s appointments and ask questions, you know your body better than anyone (I hope) so if something doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t. Trust your intuition and go with your gut. I have followed my gut more than ever recently and I haven’t been wrong yet.
I didn’t really expect to get such an overwhelming amount of support since I went public with this blog and I am absolutely blown away. So, thank you, even if it was just a simple like on Facebook or Instagram I appreciate it. If you know me personally you know, I am a huge bitch but my soft side shows through every once and a while so I am truly grateful for my support system. I couldn’t ask for better people to surround myself with and to share my journey with.
There is much more to this story and I will continue fighting with every breathe I take. Some days are harder than others but writing has been very helpful for myself and hopefully I can help someone else in the process.
xoxo
Kim