Oh my ... Dad and I just met with the head nurse at the oncologist's office and it was all doom and despair. (Dun, Dun, Dunnnn.) Basically, she went over everything that could happen, but that wouldn't necessarily happen to me. I guess she is required to do that, but it was all a bit much for me and Dad and unfortunately when that happens I get a tad curt (to say it nicely).
I will be injected with Herceptin every week (including with my chemo treatments which are every third week). They start by giving me two hours worth of medication the first treatment, then 90 minutes the second, then 60 the third, then 30 for the remainder of a year. Herceptin effects the heart muscle in a negative way making it slow and lazy. Daunting thought, indeed! They will continue doing heart scans every three months to make sure my heart is still OK. Once the treatment is over, my heart will repair itself. Breaks my heart! (I know, a bit cheesy! OK, a lot cheesy.)
Taxotere and carboplatin are what I get every three weeks with a dose of herceptin. Taxotere is a beast! The possible side effects are horrible with this medication. This is the medication that kills the white blood cells, makes hair fall out, creates sores inside your mouth, and can even make your nails fall out. (Not that I am too concerned with vanity at this point.) It basically tracks down any cells in the body that multiply quickly (that it how it categorizes cancer). Unfortunately, that also includes the cells in your mouth, so while having treatment they are being killed and trying to repair themselves ... hence the sores in the mouth. Because this medication is so beastly, 24 hours after my treatment, I have to give myself an injection in my stomach to make my body create more white blood cells so that I can attempt to remain healthy and strong throughout this process. She suggested my arm, but when she tried to pinch some fat she realized I had none and said, "nevermind." If I ever wished to be heavier, it would be NOW. If you know me, you know how I feel about needles. Holy hell ... this is not going to be enjoyable. At this point though, I almost don't even care about being poked and prodded ... you kind of just accept it and move on after awhile. Ugh. Stupid needles. I have to just keep thinking of the cute boobs I will have when this is all over!
I have a ton of prescriptions to fill that I take the day before chemotherapy, the day of, and the day after. Most are to reduce nausea and allergic reactions. One is a low does of steroid which she said may make me gain 10-15 pounds of water weight. (Again, screw vanity at this point.) Apparently, the beastly taxotere has been known to cause some nasty allergic reactions, like fluid around the lungs and heart. UGH! My first treatment (this Friday, Feb. 15) will help them gage how I will react to the different medications. They told me to expect that my IBS would act up since my tummy is so sensitive. Awesome ... can't wait!
I know I sound extremely "Debbie Downer," but it is just my nerves. Once I survive treatment #1, I think it will put my mind at ease a bit. It's that whole notion of not knowing what to expect or how the medicine will make me feel. I am certainly ready to get started ... I am just scared. That's what it comes down to.
That's basically the latest. My hair is already falling out from stress ... I haven't even done chemotherapy yet. I am sleeping on average about four hours a night. (I have coincidentally gotten a lot of organizing and projects done around my condo though.) The port is still a pain and causing me grief. All in all ... I think I am losing it. (Just kidding!) I know I will be OK, but like I said before, it all just seems so daunting.
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