Pre-operation prep

The day before my operation, I had to go through a series of delightful events. First up was the blood work and then pre-operation RSL. According to Google, RSL involves sticking a radioactive substance right smack in the center of my target area. In layman's terms, it's like having a needle play pinball inside me with a radioactive ball.

So I checked my schedule and realized that the blood work was scheduled at Dana Farber in Newton, while the RSL was at Dana Farber Faulkner hospital in Jamaica Plain, with a measly half-hour gap between them. Now, I may have survived all the chemo like a superhuman, but teleportation isn't one of my superpowers. Sadly, I couldn't magically be in two places at once, especially not in half an hour.

After a hour on the phone (by this time it was evening and I was bounced between several schedulers) I was told that the blood work in Newton was cancelled and that I should just "drop by" Faulkner lab and that the hospital has my order and everything was now all set.

Fast forward to the next day -- Faulkner lab spent a hour trying to figure out first who I was, then if there was an order, and then trying to "unlock" that order. After an hour I walked away with no blood work, hoping that it would not be a crucial requirement for the next day's operation.

The second act of the play for the day was the radioactive insert. I found myself in a freezing room, half naked, feeling like a contestant in some survival reality show. I had to sit with a straight back in an uncomfortable chair in front of the ever fun mammogram machine that always feels like something out of a medieval torture chamber, but the real star of the show was the array of endless needles on a table. They could give any horror movie prop a run for its money, the only thing missing was the drill... I kept having flashbacks to all the mafia tortures in the basement from a few movies I watched while fatigued and in chemo brain fog.

The procedure itself wasn't a walk in the park, but not as scary as the buildup in my head waiting in that freezing room.

Update

It has been a busy several weeks...

First, I had this image in my head, that once the chemo is over, I would be running around like a mountain goat, finally feeling the oh so missed energy of the everyday life. Not so fast. It took another week, till about May 15th, to fully recover, so that I could easily be up and about half the day and get to crawl into bed around 5-6 pm. And surprisingly,  though the chemotherapy supposedly left my body by then, I got several side effects unexpectedly popping up: dry, brown lines on my nails, persistent cough, and sweat.

Secondly, my oldest got back from college and did a week worth of training for her internship -- so there was quite a lot of driving while we were fixing a car she could use. And I was that designated driver most of the time as our household was stuck with just one car.

Thirdly, May is the month for all the end of the year concerts, plays, etc. that I was able to be part of.

We even managed to hold a handmade "vareniki" -- Russian dumplings with cherries or potatoes -- party at our house...yummy!

In one word -- busy, busy life, even if I am still not on a full capacity, more like 70% battery.

And now I have about a week before the operation, and I have to prep for after the surgery (they said at least two weeks, if not more of rehab) and organize the house/food/bills to be able to get away with not moving my arm much for those two weeks.

Operation scheduled

 

After all the testing  we met with the doctor to discuss the next steps, specifically surgery. 

It has been decided that June 1 is the date to go under the knife -- will remove the near biopsy cells and quite a few lymph nodes on the left arm.  It is a 2 hour operation, so by mid day I should already be home, and then there is 2-3 weeks recovery time.

Test day

Now that the chemo is over the doctors have to figure out several things: did it work, how well it worked and when the operation should be scheduled.

As I see it from the inside, at this point, there are very few precise diagnostical tests available to actually pinpoint the cancer cells. Most of it is a bit of approximation and protocol: this larger, darker mess might be cancer, so let do these MRI, CT scans, or ultrasound to narrow the guessing just a bit..., but the only way to be sure seems to actually remove the cells via biopsy or actual operation and grow them.

So, in this imperfect world, I spent the entire day today, Thursday, being prodded, tested, and imaged to such an extent that could barely talk by the time it was over. From 8 am in the morning till 4:30 in the afternoon, Dana Farber was my "experimental rabbit" trial.

I had:

• numerous vials of blood drawn in preparation for the operation
• Keytruda treatment (I still have at least 4 more to go, every three weeks, I believe)
• an MRI
• a mammogram
• an ultrasound

Last chemo side effects

I was so thrilled that the chemotherapy was finally over and started to make all these plans -- where, what and how. I was completely convinced that by the fifth day, Monday I would be back to life as I remember it.

Not so fast, it turned out. My blood cell count dropped dramatically, so did the appetite and the fatigue just .... covered me. By Tuesday I was still in bed, barely moving and now frantically searching what else to watch on Netflix. Due to overwhelming headaches, I was unable to do anything else. The new series "The Diplomat" took the edge off. I did manage a few hours at a friend's birthday party, but the next day I had to recover from that.

Now my mantra: the chemo is over and I just have to be patient for another week or so. But, to quote "The Princess Bride" -- I hate waiting!