Not that unexpected

Monday was the day I had several appointments scheduled in the hospital:

9 am blood draw

10 am meeting with oncologist

11 am Keytruda infusion

12:30 pm post operation checkup

2 pm preliminary meeting regarding radiology

But everything sort of went side-ways starting with the labs. My port had been removed during the operation (thank God), because I believed it was infected as it never really stopped hurting. It was implanted back on January 5th and after several weeks you are not supposed to feel it. Five months later, even wearing a t-shirt over it was sensitive. 

So now, the labs and the infusion would have to be done via regular IV. For almost two hours several nurses, including the specialist, were unable to find a vein for me, and we finally gave up. My veins are tricky, but this day probably some planet was in retrograde, and even with all the fancy equipment they were not able to draw blood.

And, consequently,  my schedule was in disarray, and at 10:50 am we met with my oncologist. She brought a study graph and explained that even though during chemo Keytruda is key, once the chemo is over, according to protocol there are 5 more infusions, but the efficacy of those is not that obvious. The difference of recurrence without these treatments is less that 2%, but the side-effects are still there.... so, considering that getting an IV for me seems to be in the realm of the impossible, we decided to forgo the left over treatments for now. So we crossed the Keytruda infusion from my schedule.

7th chemo

Good morning sunshine! Rise and shine, it's time for my 7th round of chemo-licious adventure. I stumbled out of bed, slathered the lidocaine cream over the port and went back to bed.  I have to apply the cream an hour and a half before the blood draw, and considering that today's appointment was at 7:30.... you get the idea. So, at 6:50 am I threw on my favorite superhero cape (a.k.a my comfy front zipped sweatshirt for easy access to a port, but need to get another one of these) and headed off to conquer cancer.

At the infusion center, I was greeted by my trusty chemo team who were ready to pump me full of goodness. As they hooked me via port, I noticed I was feeling a bit more tired than usual and dizzy, which is new for me, but I refused to let it dampen my spirits. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and started humming my own theme song. And then I realized what was missing -- yummy food to fuel my body and keep my strength up. George got me a huge salad from Sweetgreens and life started to look much better. Salad is not congee (my super crazy craving lately) but it is much better than the days of bland chips and breakfast bars offered at the Dana Farber center. I'm a salad connoisseur now!

Before I knew it, the infusion was over and I made it home by 2 pm and spent the rest of the day indulging in some well-deserved rest.

I snuggled up in bed with a good book, "The Forty Rules of Love" by Elif Shafak, and allowed my mind to wander into a world of love and adventure, or at least trying to get sucked in.

Special place in hell

Now, I want to reserve a special place in hell for the person who came up with the brilliant idea of  covering the deep cut over the port incision with 5 inch thick layer of gauze pressed down by a really wide, transparent medical industrial-strength Band-Aid  -- very thin, almost translucent plastic that sticks like glue to your skin.

It turned out that this Band-Aid could only be ripped off with a layer of your sad, battered and bruised epidermis. And you are not allowed to get any water on it for two days to try and ease this!! 

As per Google doctor's picture to the right --- it is part of the protocol by some genius. I bet like many people who don't have kids and like to give advice how to raise them, this genius probably never went under the knife themselves. 

AAAHHHH!

3rd chemo

My 3rd chemo is done!✅ 

Most of the premeds are gone, so I felt a bit of a sting for the first time. My chemo was today, on Friday instead of my regular Thursday, because of the port procedure yesterday and we couldn't just skip it -- so Friday it was.

I actually asked to use a regular IV, because the port area is still very, very sore and painful and covered in 5 inch thick gauze that is impossible to take off.

Thankfully, the Dana Faber Center accommodated my request so the overall chemotherapy was a bit more uncomfortable, but easily bearable as I didn't have to deal with the raw wound of the port.

Port procedure

Three weeks into my chemotherapy regimen, after all the holidays, I was finally scheduled for a port procedure -- this time at Dana Farber in Boston. My overall experience at this location wasn't that great, though the actual procedure went well.

Who knew that within several weeks, I would play favorites! I so like my satellite office at Chestnut Hill (parking, easy registration, direct communications), that I am looking forward to going there tomorrow for chemo treatment instead of Boston.

After a flood of communication of where, when, and required preregistration, it turned out that I was supposed to be at a different building, different floor to draw blood, than rush across the street to yet another floor to check in, then brought along some convoluted labyrinth to the prep station. All this confusion at 7 AM in the morning

with nobody to ask is no fun. Then the nightmare of the nurse not being able to get an IV inserted started. She tried 5 times (!), which was excruciating and with each time she did it with more determination and less care, as if by sheer will her random stabbing would amount to anything. It turns out that large hospitals normally have an IV team that I could have requested... In comparison to that IV experience, the actual cut open procedure felt like a holiday! :)

So, back to the port. Until a month ago I didn't even know such thing existed or were highly desired. A port, per Doctor Google's definition: "A vascular access procedure involves placing a thin hollow plastic tube into a vein to permit drawing blood tests, and giving medications or transfusions directly into the bloodstream, over a period of weeks, months or even years."

In layman's terms, during an hour under local sedation in a bright white room (just like in all those hospital dramas), a small round blip was placed under the skin just below my right clavicle bone. I could hear everyone, see the gleaming machines that performed ultrasound and what else, but sorts of from very, very far away.

And now this will be used for all the blood draws and infusions, though I am hoping not tomorrow, as it takes several days to heal...

Testing checklist

I now have an official diagnosis -- triple negative breast cancer that spreads faster than the other kinds. And Monday December 5 the flurry of activity finally picked up -- there are numerous tests that needed to be performed to figure out treatment options: 

genetic testing, 

MRI, 

CT scan, 

bone scan, 

numerous labs,

and even a port to implant under the skin

Finally, a bit more than a month since discovery, the rush is finally on.