Travis and I entered the oncology office armed with my big blue bag filled with files spewing with papers of chemotherapy information, alternative medicine, and innumerable amounts of breast cancer articles. Affectionately known as my “cancer chica bag”. I pulled out my purple binder filled with numerous questions. My oncologist walked in to the room unaware of the onslaught of inquiries that would soon fall upon her.
I filled with pride as I asked many questions about statistics, current studies, new types of treatment. I had convinced myself that there was no reason for me to have chemotherapy. Why? Well, the cancer is out–all of it. My lymph nodes are clear thus it should not have metastasized into any other portions of my body. Why would I fill my body with toxic poison when I may not even have any cancer in any part??
So there I sat asking question after question after question. I could tell my oncologist was becoming a bit frustrated. What were her answers you ask? The standard ones. “Yes, that is a great drug but it so for advanced cancer you would not qualify for it.” “Yes your cancer has not metastasized based on your lymph nodes BUT you are young and Her2 positive thus we need to do Herceptin and chemotherapy and be aggressive”
Now to backup a bit on my cancer: I am Her2 positive. The drug Herceptin (Traztumab) is a targeted therapy drug that directly targets the protein that is surrounding my cancer cells. This drug has no side effects to minimal side effects. Statistically speaking:
- Breast Cancer that is Her2 negative have a 12% chance of recurrence
- Breast Cancer that is Her2 positive (ME) have a 35-40% chance of recurrence–with chemo and herceptin the risk is 20% chance of recurrence, with tamoxifen it is 12%
Armed with all of this information I tried to convince my oncologist that I should just do Herceptin the targeted therapy without the chemo. She said that wasn’t possible. I told her how I read in other places that it was. I could sense her blood pressure rising at ridiculous rate although she was tandemly patient at the same time. She took a deep breath and told me that beginning chemotherapy was not like signing into a 30 year mortage and that if at any time the risks outweighed the benefits that we would then quit. She then went onto say how difficult she knew his was and that I’m desperately trying to gain control in a situation that I’m wasn’t happy about. The questions continued on for some time. She never waivered. Her recommendation remained the same. Chemotheraphy, TCH, every 3 weeks for 6 treatments.
She left the room, closed the door and I slumped into my seat, defeated. I couldn’t argue the statistics….what if I did turned down chemotherapy and my cancer came back?!? I would always wonder. Wonder if I had done the prescribed regimen that things would be different. I have 2 little kids, I HAVE to do everything to ensure that this cancer or any cancer won’t ever come back. Or do I? How do I know she is right? What if do more harm then good with the chemo?
P Volcano (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
As we were driving home I replayed the words from my oncologist over and over again in my head like a cd with a scratch that just skips over the same words. I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to hold onto my hope that I could somehow fight this cancer without chemotherapy, without losing my hair, without toxins infiltrating my body, without carditoxicity side effects….without any of the evil things that comes with chemo. A fiery rage was bubbling at the core of my being. An anger, like one I had never experienced. An anger so prevalent and fierce that I didn’t know what to do with it. I ran into the house, into our room and I collapsed into my bed and sobbed. I pounded the pillows with my fists, threw them on the ground, threw the sheets on the ground…..but it wasn’t enough. I was a volcano that needed to explode. I ran into Michael’s room and grabbed his group of small soft balls and I began throwing them against my bedroom walls. Over and over again I threw those balls with all of my bubbling rage, tears streaming down my face, my chest convulsing in out of sync breaths until I finally collapsed on the floor and sobbed. My entire body shaking, my breath hyper ventilating, my face covered in tears I lay there on my carpet utterly defeated, angry and exhausted. Luckily I am a terrible thrower, so my walls don’t even have a mark.