Zometa and more

Tuesday brought a return to Magee for more poking, prodding and WAITING. I was a little apprehensive to begin with since we have been known to wait for hours to see Dr. Puhalla in the past and I wasn't sure what that would look like for someone who can't sit. Fortunately I only had to hang out in the waiting area (standing and feeling just a little foolish as I filled out my forms) for a few minutes before I was called back for the weighing, blood pressure and bloodwork stuff (all accomplished standing or lying on the very uncomfortable exam table with the pull out footrest). Then the research nurse came along (presumably to make sure that I hadn't developed that disfiguring jaw-wasting disease attributed to Zometa) followed by Dr. Puhalla's PA. Thinking that it would only be a matter of minutes before I saw Dr. P herself, I never asked for a magazine or my bag (way far away from where I was lying on a very high table). After waiting there by myself for at least an HOUR AND A HALF, I finally saw Dr. Puhalla. It didn't take long to determine that she is pretty sure that I am coming out of chemo-induced menopause so she would like my ovaries suppressed ASAP. She told me that it just involves an "injection". She also wants me to pursue the D&C prescribed by my gynecologist to rule out any rogue endometrial issues. I'm thinking that, due to my current condition, this won't happen before December sometime. Sounds like fun! By this time Halley (in the waiting room with 20lbs. of Elle magazines...) has succumbed to the free, push-button coffee (although, it isn't actually as bad as it sounds) and wondering if I've been permanently ensconced in the twisting halls of the Magee Women's Cancer Center (I remember one of these appointments during chemo when Nikki actually texted me to make sure that she was where she was supposed to be and that I was too!). We hung around - standing - for awhile longer before they called me back for the Zometa infusion. Unfortunately the "reclining" chemo chairs really weren't designed for the post-gracilis reconstruction patient so it was an uncomfortable 30 or so minutes there. But all of this was nothing compared to the ovarian suppressing "injection" that was coming up... first the head nurse intercepted the nurse assisting me offering to "finish up here" and then she pulled the curtain (I wasn't even aware that there were curtains and I've been attending there regularly for over a year!) completely around us taping it to the wall to keep it closed. Halley decided that this may be a good time to step out (at least one of us had the good sense to run!) and the nurse pulled out a very large needle. She pinched up my stomach and slid it slowly under my skin before injecting a pellet under my skin!! I was so shocked and baffled that I almost burst into tears (if Darin would've been there, I'm sure that I would've). It hurt so badly and no one had prepared me for what was coming! I have Stage III breast cancer and have endured three surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation and countless other minor, painful procedures. Did no one think that I could handle the truth???? I do not like surprises in the hospital and this was almost more than I could endure. And to think that I need to do it monthly for the first three months and then every three months "for now". Honestly!! The head nurse told me that as soon as they see this drug on someone's chart the nurses start trying to find a way out of administering it because they know how bad it is. I can see why! So... by the time that I finally got home (from my 9:15 appointment) at 1:30 I was exhausted, sore and a little bit miserable. Tuesday was not a good day.

But, today is Thursday and Thursday is a better day. I've seen a lot of friends in the past couple of days and Darin and I have definitively decided that my gaping hole has not gotten worse. (there for awhile we really weren't sure...) I even read a little uplifting blurb from Sarah Young this morning:

"Bearing your circumstances bravely - even thanking Me for them - is one of the highest forms of praise. This sacrifice of thanksgiving rings golden-toned bells of Joy throughout the heavenly realms. On earth also, your patient suffering sends out ripples of good tidings in ever-widening circles."

I'm not sure that I have really born them bravely or endured patiently enough, but I do feel thankful and I'm working on the rest! Thank you all for enduring this roller coaster of emotions along with me. I think that for a very long time I have been waiting for it ALL to be over (so I could just "get on with my life") and now it is slowly sinking in that that point will never actually come. Appointments, needles, changing medications, tests, bloodwork and doctors ARE my life. I'm never going to be able to tuck breast cancer in my back pocket as something that I once went through. But I think it will serve me well to be reminded on a regular basis from whence I have come. It's like my own personal communion service reminding me of Christ's sacrifice and how I then should live. I don't think that it would be wise to just "get on with my life"... and this way, I'll never forget what I have learned along the way.