28

Twenty-eight.  That was my score on the Oncotype test (I thought this article, although a few years old, explained the test well).  

My score fell in the intermediate range like I kind of suspected it might.  Darn!  The intermediate range is from 18-30, so I was high within that range, which I think was preferable than if it had been low.  If I was only one or two points over the "low risk/no chemo" cut-off it would be even more difficult to decide if all the side effects of chemo (long and short-term) were worth it.

Getting the official news that I need to do chemo was almost as bad as finding out I had cancer in the first place.  Having to tell people that I need to do chemo is almost as difficult as telling them I have cancer.  

No one ever told me I would not have to do chemo.  I believe it was presented that given what we knew about my cancer from the initial biopsy that is was possible, perhaps even probable, that I might only need lumpectomy + radiation.  At least part of that turned out true.  Even though that was back in November, literally the day I was diagnosed, I obviously was holding onto the hope it would be the case.  Then when there was no cancer in my lymph nodes I thought that basically meant I was in the clear (chemo-wise).  Wrong...

When I have told the people that I have cancer - something that was really, really difficult for me - I have always presented it with the positive spin that it's not very aggressive (still basically true, thank goodness) and I might not have to do chemo.  So now I have to tell them that, actually, I do have to do it.  I think it's in part because I want to protect them and reassure them that I will be fine, it could be worse (and it still could be!).  Most of us have at least an idea of what chemo means and does to a person and you don't want to think about someone you care about going through it.  

Dr. Bridges (my oncologist) said he thinks I will tolerate it well because I'm otherwise healthy (and don't forget oh so young!).  I have a really hard time with this being healthy, but having cancer at the same time which inherently means, no, you are not healthy.  I've always been one of those lucky people who can check the "no" box on pretty much everything on health history and medication forms. I try to remind myself that although I feel perfectly fine and great right now, if that stupid lump hadn't been found, eventually I would not feel good, and the prognosis would be much worse for a happy outcome.

It's hard to accept that I am going to subject my healthy-feeling body to a medical regimen that is going to make me feel like crap.  Chemo, in my case, is all about preventing cancer from recurring/metasizing elsewhere in my body.  From what I have learned, if that happens your options are severely limited and basically you are treated for cancer until your fragile body can take no more.  I am definitely all about avoiding that from happening.  If doing chemo gets my chance of that happening down below 10% I will take it.  I have a 7-year-old and a 3-year-old so I need to stick around for a long time!

So what's the plan... I'm waiting to hear from my surgeon's office to schedule getting a port.  I had hoped I might avoid this, but after talking with Dr. Bridges, his nurse, as well as a few women who've been through all this, I was convinced that I will be glad I have the port.  Getting a port means another outpatient surgery which I assume will be next week.  They put a little disk under the skin near your collar bone.  It is attached to a catheter that connects to some vein or artery.  Then when I have treatments, or blood draws, they can use the port to administer the drugs rather than give an IV each time.  I wasn't too worried about an IV, but the doctor said with these drugs veins are more likely to have issues and you can only do it in my right arm and he looked at my arm and kind of shook his head.

They gave me a big, fat folder full of chemo information.  The first brochure in the booklet is all about "Fall Risk."  I really hope that isn't going to apply so much to me.  I have to take a "Treatment Learning Class" (TLC) next week. 

Then on Tuesday, February 17th I will start my chemo regimen.  

Four treatments of two drugs, Cytoxan and Taxotere, administrered every 3 weeks (so 12 weeks/3 months total).  Supposedly about 4 days after the treatment is when you really feel like total crap... just in time for the weekend.  I'm not sure how many days I should expect to feel totally crappy.  The day after each treatment I will have to go back to get a Neulasta shot.  The shot stimulates white blood cell growth to combat the fact we are killing my white blood cells.  This was the first thing I read on one of the drug info sheets when I got home... yikes!  It seems so crazy since that is exactly what I'm trying to prevent here!