My uneventful Tamoxifen experience

In late July, I took my first dose of Tamoxifen. It was strangely ceremonial because I had for so long considered the drug just short of a nightmare. It was one of those moments where you just do it because you’re told and don’t have any other options…like chemo…like surgery. I was terrified but, frankly, just too worn out on the topic to resist any longer.

Because I’m pre-menopausal, my body is still creating plenty of estrogen. But, my type of cancer thrived on estrogen. Removing estrogen from my body can “starve” any pesky cancer cells that may be still floating around trying to take up shop somewhere in my body and kill me. That’s where Tamoxifen comes into play. The 5-year daily pill is able to target and protect breast cells (or rogue breast cancer cells) from estrogen uptake without tinkering with other important things that need estrogen like bones.

Why was I scared of a drug known to significantly reduce chances of recurrence of estrogen receptive breast cancer? Some women do not tolerate the drug well and I had heard of a myriad of awful side effects. The official list of side effects were very similar to going through natural menopause, but more severe. Loss of libido, mood, and skin changes were top concerns for me. I was afraid it would turn me into a tired, cranky, dried up piece of toast.

My doctor told me that I should at least try Tamoxifen. My other options were removal of my ovaries or doing nothing, treatment options that felt either extreme or careless.

The first month on the pill I had night sweats and mood swings. Luckily, my experience was nothing like what I’d heard from other women. It wasn’t a total breeze. Hormones are delicate things after all. But my body adapted. It was much, much easier than I expected.

Lexapro, which I had already been prescribed, can help with some of the side effects. My 3-month supply helped level out the bumps I believe.

I’m nearly 6 months in and I feel good. I have energy. My skin is in good shape. Sex drive is in full swing. Not so much as a hot flash to mention anymore. One added bonus is that it has nearly cleared up my debilitating menstrual cramps and lightened and shortened my periods significantly. I cling to these sorts of silver linings.

I did the right thing…kept an open mind, had sex regularly, maintained fitness, all the things that a healthy girl my age should do anyway. The peace of mind alone should have been enough, but, as always, it wasn’t enough for me. I want to enjoy life, not just live it.

Yesterday I went back up in the aerial silks for the time in 18 months. Being back up in the air, feeling a tiny bit of the strength I used to have, felt so blissfully familiar. As enormously as things have changed since May 2016, it was a relief to know that some things, the important things, could stay the same.

 

I’ll do it a thousand times again

June 7, 2017, my (hopefully) last chemo treatment ever, came and went. I completed 6 rounds of TCHP and 12 more rounds of Herceptin. I’ve been doing this every 3 weeks for 1 year. Add 3 surgeries, probably a hundred needle pokes, nearly a million dollars, and over a bagillion tears and it ends up being quite an eventful year. It must sound like a monumental understatement to say that I’m glad it is over.

I anticipated it being a day of immense relief and joy, like I would have pride in accomplishing something so hard and celebratory to not have to do it anymore. Instead, I felt tired, ready to get on with it, and very, very worried. Treatment is over. There is nothing more I can do to keep cancer from coming back. In fact, if the cancer comes back, it could be Stage 4 and terminal. Instead of feeling elated at my last treatment, I felt solemn as this realization sunk in.

Immediately, my busy mind got to work cataloging coughs and aches and blaming a metastasis. A sore spot on my spine landed me back at Radiology for a bone scan.

Negative. Likely a result of the Shape of You Videodance class at Ballet Austin. Or was it that fall on the boat? Maybe it was that heavy, new bathroom door installation.

Remember, Rach, life is getting back to normal. Sore backs are normal for someone who dangles from aerial silks, stumbles around on boat docs in various states of sobriety, and flings herself across dance floors in 7 inch platforms.

Worrying about this for the rest of my life is just simply not going to be sustainable. I never worried about being hit by a bus or murdered before cancer so why start now?

When my busy mind starts to get the better of me, I remind myself that I did it. And I’ll do it again if I have to. I’ll do it a thousand times, for myself and my parents and Cindy and Cinco, for all the people that helped me this year. I’ll worry about it when it happens, not before.

Fear is Relative

I put on the suit and harness, walked out to the plane, and watched the ground disappear as the plane rose. I hadn’t wanted to. I’m not a thrill seeker. We were celebrating the very special woman who orchestrated my cancer survival so I did what I was told.

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White knuckles anyone?

They opened the door and I took deep breaths of the fresh air. I felt tears. This, my mind’s voice reassured, was not nearly as scary as the last 12 months. But, the sensation felt familiar.

The feeling of powerlessness and anxious anticipation, not knowing what will happen but doing it anyway, is commonplace to me now. This isn’t like the old me. I used to be in control and preferred it that way. I’ve changed.

Fear is apparently relative. I’ve already done something incredibly scary, perhaps the most scary thing I’ll ever do. Nothing can scare me more. Not standing in front of an audience with no pants, not spiders or sharks, not even skydiving.

The night before wasn’t sleepless. I felt oddly calm before and during my jump, even during the free fall. I didn’t scream or close my eyes. I’m so glad I didn’t let the fear ruin it for me. I looked around and it was beautiful. I let go and it felt okay. It is a good lesson for all of us.

And at the end I hugged my people. Will Smith was right…the best things in life come after the maximum fear.

You know? You know.

Nearly everything I own fits far differently or not at all. My friends are having fun shopping in my closet. I’ve given away many of my tiny sundresses, bathing suits, and even my pretty lingerie. My bra drawer took the hardest hit. I’ve got nothing but a sports bra that was too big before my mastectomy.

This week, after I got the A-OK from my plastic surgeon that surgeries are finished and this is the size I can expect to stay, I went bra shopping. Petticoat Fair is known across the country as one of the leading bra fitters so I couldn’t wait to support my local bra slinger in person. They were charming when I went in pre-mastectomy to get info on therapeutic bras. They even work with insurance! These ladies are simply the best around.

My patient and gentle fitter asked a lot of questions so that I got not only what I wanted but also what was allowed per my surgeon’s instruction at this stage of my healing. She measured me and brought in a ton to try on. She stayed to adjust straps and check fit, making sure that every detail was supportive, comfortable, long-lasting, and pretty. I was glad she expected my new bra to be ALL those things equally.

I ended up with an every-day molded cup wireless bra that would be smooth even under tight, thin knit. It doesn’t press anywhere on my breasts or incisions so it won’t be painful or affect healing. I could have probably gotten one in every color since they are so versatile. I also got a sexy, black French lace bralette from the sale bin. These things can be expensive, especially those with fancy lace or trendy design. I was glad I was able to get one fun thing at a discount. (Heads up…French lingerie is still expensive even when it is on sale. Those curves though!)

They keep everything on file, including my wishlist with exact sizes. (Just in case my beau needs gift specifics…)

One of the best moments was when my fitter told me she was herself a 20 year cancer survivor. We shared a little about our experiences and she finished by saying, “you know,” not as a question but as a statement. It felt strange to “know” just what she meant, having just met her. It also felt good. It felt reassuring. She’s still here. I will be too.

Thank you, Cinco, for my Petticoat gift certificate! And, thank you Petticoat for making the downs an up, in all the ways.