Field Trip

Since a day of chemotherapy is so much fun, I thought you might like to join me on a field trip.

Ready?

It's not a bad drive to Huntsman. I just head up Foothill, past the University, then a little further east to the hospital. Would you believe they have valet parking? With no tipping allowed? It's very convenient.

I stopped in the middle of the road to take this picture, so please take a moment to appreciate it. It was quite crooked until I used the "straighten" tool in Picasa. Have you tried it? I love it.

This really is a gorgeous facility and doesn't "feel" like a hospital, which is so very nice. It is light, clean, and modern, but doesn't even smell like a hospital. Actually, it feels more like a hotel, but I haven't had the pleasure of a sleepover ... yet. There are two good restaurants on the top floor. I'll tell you more about those shortly.

Every few weeks, I see my doctor first. She checks me out and answers all my questions and always has a big hug for me. I love her. Have I told you that? Dr. Saundra Buys, in case you should find yourself in need of an amazing breast cancer doctor. My friend Courtney echoed my sentiments exactly about these doctor visits: it feels like Mardi Gras because everyone always wants me to lift up my shirt and show them my girls!


Next stop: the IV and labs. They draw my blood every time I have chemo (which is every Friday, by the way) to check my kidney and liver function, my white and red blood cell count, and a whole bunch of other stuff. Assuming everything is working okay, I get the gift of toxicity. So far, they haven't turned me away yet, which means that my body is handling the chemo just fine. Sometimes, a nurse will strongly encourage me to get a port, which is a thing about the size of a quarter that would go just under my collarbone and stay there until I'm done with chemo. I don't want one, though, and since I don't have to have one, I choose a different vein each time for my IV. If I were scared of needles or if I had already had surgery, I would need one, but for now, I just tell them where to stick it.

While I wait for my labs to come back and my chemo to be prepared, I usually have time for lunch. There are two really good restaurants on the top floor, and if I have time, I nearly always get the blackened salmon, steamed vegetables, and green tea. Antioxidants, anyone?


This is the long, long hallway that goes to the infusion room, which is the place where everyone gets their chemotherapy and any other injectable, like blood, I guess, when you have to get hooked up to an IV to get it then sit and wait a while. They plunk me in a recliner that has a TV, offer warm blankets and pillows, and connect me to the toxins.

See?

It usually takes me about three hours or so to finish up, so I always take my laptop. Sometimes, the beeping and cancer talk all around me start to make me a little nuts, so I've found it's really helpful to take my big old Bose headphones and a movie. I like to chat with the other patients, too, and have some good friends there since we see each other all the time, but not everyone is chatty. Some people will have chemo for the rest of their lives, while others like me will finish up and move on, and the nurses sing, ""Happy end of chemo to you ... your therapy is through!"

This is the infusion room nurses' station. They are all extremely nice and helpful, like everyone I've met at Huntsman, and one of them is assigned to me the whole time. When I'm done and the alarm beeps, they free me from the IV, which always makes me happy. They nearly always have a big basket of chocolate (smart ladies) and there are always free hats that nice people knit or sew and donate to us baldies. Our heads get cold in the winter.

It helps to have cute socks, because I like to kick back in the recliner and I wouldn't want to have ugly feet. Thank you, Brent, for the cute socks.

Was that fun, or what? I'm glad you joined me on the field trip via blogland, because a real day of infusion therapy is really quite boring.

FAQ

Bad blogger.

Bad returner of phone calls.

Bad e-mailer.

Please don't think I am ignoring you. Really! I love you and your calls and cards and e-mails. I even love blogging.

But sometimes, I get tired of talking about cancer, chemo, breasts, and tests. When we're talking on the phone and I change the subject to talk about your PMS, your kids' messes, your new living room furniture or latest great (or terrible) recipe, you might think, "Oh, the poor thing. She is really uncomfortable talking about her breast cancer."

In actuality, I just find it really ... boring.

I have discovered that being diagnosed with cancer seems to also mean being defined as having cancer. I know this and am not in denial. However, I am still a mom, friend, photographer, procrastinator, reader, animal lover, cake stand collector, and iTunes addict. Those things (and yours) are much more fun to talk about, especially if I'm returning phone calls and have already answered all the questions you ask me that day several times over.

Please don't feel bad for asking, though. Just understand if I change the subject, and here: let me answer a few of the questions I've been asked a lot recently, in case I haven't returned your phone call or e-mail or doorbell ring or letter. I was probably asleep, if you want to know the truth, and just too darn pooped to get up and answer the door, and I probably had the phone turned off, and I might not even have checked my e-mail all day.

1) Are you done with chemo?
Not yet. I finished four rounds of Adriamycin/Cytoxan (also known as "AC" or "red Kool-Aid," because the Adriamycin is wicked red and so is your pee afterwards). I have had one visit with my new combination: Taxol/Herceptin. I go every week for 12 weeks for this combination. It makes me very tired and achy.



2) How are you feeling?
Pretty good, actually. As I said, I get very, very tired a couple of days after chemo and it lasts for a couple of days, and I feel extremely fortunate to be able to sleep pretty much anytime I want to during that time. This is thanks to Saint Anthony, my family, and my ward, who watch my kids and bring us food.

3) What is your prognosis?
This is my least favorite question, but it seems to come up a lot. To me, it is a question that is really asking, "Are you going to live or die?" I know that's probably not what the questioner truly has in mind, but still. I plan to live and my doctor says I should live a very long life. We discovered this early enough that I can beat it, but it will take a while to get there.

4) What's next?
After I finish my chemo, I will have surgery. This means a mastectomy, and my hope is to have a bilateral mastectomy. Good-bye, both boobs. Hello, reconstructed Frankenstein-ish boobs. You see, my maternal grandmother, aunt, and many cousins had breast cancer, and in my grandmother's case, hers started in one breast and came back in the other two years later. I am really not interested in having breast cancer twice, so I would rather just have the surgeon take them both and build me a fresh set. Surgery should happen in February. After that, I have radiation. I'm not sure how long that will last.

Grandpa and Grandma Tibbitts

5) Have you considered vitamins/grapeseed oil/holly injections/etc. instead of chemo?
No. Thank you. I have a rather aggresive form of breast cancer and, as you may guess, I am not interested in it hanging around. My belief is that this traditional method of treatment is the best option for beating this cancer. That being said, I certainly offer up my respect for each individual's right to treat their own cancer how they want. I am pursuing some complementary treatments, including yoga and acupuncture, but that is in addition to the chemo/surgery/radiation.

P.S. Please don't tell me that chemo will probably kill me if the cancer doesn't. It won't.


6) Do you wear a wig?
Not yet. I have one, but haven't had George steam, cut, and style it yet. I like my baseball caps, knit caps, scarves, and other stylish head coverings (thank you, Heidi, Kathleen, and my mom's nice co-worker) better so far. I'm getting tired of the same look, though, so that may change in the future. It helps that A. is always telling me I'm beautiful (when he's not calling me "baldy," that is).

7) Are you bald? Totally?
Yes. I have a little bit of stubble left, but not much. No, I don't have to shave my armpits or legs anymore. I haven't lost my eyebrows and eyelashes yet, but they tell me the Taxol may do that later.

That's all I can think of for tonight. I have chemo tomorrow, which means I will sleep for several days, and probably won't be blogging much in that time period. But don't think I've forgotten you, blog readers and friends of mine. I love you and appreciate your prayers and kind words, food, cards, and so much more. You help me more than you know.

Please send more questions so I can write FAQ volume 2 soon.