- Liz Murtaugh Gillespie
- Sep 25, 2015
I was dreading this third round of chemo a bit. Round three hit a friend of mine harder than any other. (Remember Suzy? She and I shared an infusion suite on her final chemo treatment and my first.) On the one hand, I wondered if I was comparing apples and oranges. Suzy got higher doses of more chemo drugs than I'm getting, because she's fighting off lymphoma, not breast cancer. On the other, I struggled to shake off that bummer of a heads-up I got from an acupuncturist — the one who advised that chemo would hit me harder and harder with each dose. When I relayed that line to a social worker I met with the morning of my third chemo treatment, she shook her head and said, "Wow ... that is not true for many people! What an unfortunate thing for someone who's supposed to be focused on healing to say to you!" I know, right?! Alas, here I am, feeling better the first couple days after this third treatment than I have with the last two rounds. Seems to be a pattern, so maybe it's time to quit wondering when/if the chemo shoe's doing to drop and kick me. In other anxiety-reducing news, I got some more insight on for the four extra sessions I'll be getting in the second "half" of chemo (I say half because the first half is 8 weeks and the second half is 12). The biggest side effect of taxol, a drug that's not nearly as hard on the body as the adriamycin/cytoxan cocktail I'm getting now, is neuropathy (usually temporary, but sometimes permanent numbing of the the tips of fingers and toes).
The weekly treatments, which they give in relatively light doses, tend to lower the risk of neuropathy. Not all people can or are willing to double the number of chemo infusions they cram into their schedules. Those folks go with two more dose-dense options: four treatments ever two weeks or every three weeks. My oncologist says there isn't widespread agreement, or many (any?) studies comparing the effectiveness of the biweekly and triweekly treatment options. But there have been studies showing that 12 weekly treatments are more effective than four dose-dense treatments every three weeks. Anything that'll increase my odds of beating cancer has my vote. So 12 taxol treatments, it is. Last week, when I griped about the 12 vs. 8 thing (which I learned about it the same day I said bye-bye to my hair), it felt like a bigger bummer than it does now. And I should stress that it has nothing to do with any shift in my docs' view of how I'm doing or my prognosis for a full recovery. It's just a moment in time when one doctor's standard of care is different than another's, and when even one doctor recommends different cycles for different patients. Enough with all the medical stuff. The fun part of round 3 was — once again — having great company. This time, it was my dear friend Rainee Johnson, who took most of a day off work to hang out with me, making the hours pass quickly and brightening my smile with a most awesome Liz vs. Red Devil collage ever (see above), featuring photos of me and my sweet family, a couple fabulous gaggles of girlfriends, my mom and brother ... and my happy face superimposed on Arnold Schwarzzeneger's ridiculously ripped body. Yep, I'm strong like that, just not all oiled up and creepy looking.
I didn't have time to share a play-by-play recap my second chemo treatment — aside from a quick Facebook post thanking my friend and former AP night editor Kathy McCarthy for her fine company and my family for a surprise visit. The abridged version is that I did as well with it as the first, if not better. Aside from a few low-energy days and a nagging but not-quite-NOT-nauseous feeling, I've been fine. Even got back to lap swimming the day before round 3. I felt pretty bad ass getting in the water with my bald head and half rack. The shy side of me almost wanted to wear a swim cap, but man, that would've been silly. And though there are fancy swim suits with pockets for faux breasts, I'm going with a comfortable lap-swimming suit and feeling no need to hide my acceptance of my one-breasted self. Some of you in my Facebook world have been asking about recent flare-ups in "parent-kid-sibling drama." I'm not one to complain about how hard parenting can be. Sort of feels like noting that grass is green or Fox News is stupid. I also feel that the compassionate thing to do is to weather my family's ups and downs with Sean as my co-captain, spitball the pros and cons of what's worked and hasn't worked with the closest of friends, and figure things out day by day. We're doing OK (even on days when we wonder if we are). If it weren't for the stresses and exhaustion of dealing with cancer at the same time, we'd probably all be struggling less with getting along. We've had a few good days in a row, so we'll ride this wave and the tide will keep turning (or some other mixed metaphor). The Monday-Wednesday household and child care help that our fine friend Mary Murray has lined up for us has been a HUGE help as Sean gears up for two trials (which thankfully got postponed a bit) and as I juggle work and chemo, sometimes hitting energy/patience walls before the kids wind down for bedtime. We are so lucky we don't have to wonder what we'd do without all the support we're getting from so many people in our lives. Every day, there's someone to thank ... then another ... and another. I thank all of you for keeping tabs on how I'm doing and cheering me on. You're always saying what an amazing job I'm doing as I soldier through all this. But know this: All the strength I'm mustering doesn't come exclusively from me. It comes from all of you, too. And for that, I am impossibly grateful.
