PleurX and a T-Rex

Rewind one year. Last fall, I started feeling like I had a bowling ball in my gut. My appetite was poor and I was generally uncomfortable. An ultrasound back in January of 2019 showed ascites (fluid in the peritoneal space or the sac around the digestive tract), but it was inaccessible to drain by paracentesis. So, I waited and hoped for relief from treatment. Last spring, the problem kept getting worse. I was starting to look pregnant and suffered heartburn, pain, digestive issues, and a major loss of appetite.  Scans showed some fluid, but nothing too concerning. In June, I managed to have an amazing trip to Seattle with good friends. In July, I took a family vacation to the west coast, but I was not well. I pushed through. The memories with my family will always come ahead of anything else. 

At the end of July, I was on another camping trip with my family and friends for the Team Phoenix annual triathlon. I was miserable. I had to tell everyone to go ahead without me while I let the pain pills kick in. If this triathlon hadn’t been such an important event in my life, I would have gone to the ER right then. But the pain pills helped and I made it through the triathlon to cheered this year’s athletes to the finish line. Somehow, I packed up camp (with a lot of help) and headed home. The next day, I was packed and ready to go to the ER. CT scans clearly showed a lot of fluid had accumulated, confirming what I knew all along. The ER doc gave me the choice to leave and arrange a paracentesis with my oncologist, or to be admitted and have the procedure the next day. I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I was admitted. I made the right choice, because by bedtime, I couldn’t eat, I was throwing up, and I couldn’t get comfortable sitting, laying down, standing or anything. 

What is a paracentesis? Well, it starts with a “Little pinch and a burn,” something every doctor says (I swear there must be a course in medical school entitled “a little pinch and a burn…) as they push the needle gradually deeper into the abdomen with a numbing agent. It hurts. After the needle is withdrawn, a catheter remains in place and the tube is connected to a vacuum sealed bottle which draws the fluid out. They were able to draw 4.2 Liters of fluid, and the relief was immediate. It did not last, though. Less than two weeks later, I had to have another 3.8 Liters removed. The doctor told me that each liter of fluid weighs 2.3 pounds. And, interestingly, it is spot on. I’ve weighed myself before and after each procedure and the weight loss confirmed the amounts. 

The fluid build up signals cancer’s progression. It was time to switch to a new line of treatment. This time we decided to go with a more aggressive IV chemo, and I was scheduled to have a MedPort inserted to make the chemo infusions easier. At the same time, I could feel the fluid building up again, so I called my oncologist to ask if I could have another paracentesis while I was in surgery for the Port. It had been less than a week since my last paracentesis and the fluid was accumulating faster that any of us anticipated. My doctor decided to put in an order for me to have a PleurX Catheter (a tube that remains in place to make draining easier) placed into my abdomen during Thursday’s surgery. My understanding was that they could drain it during surgery, and then I would be able to better control when to drain it at home, instead of waiting for appointment after the symptoms have gotten so bad.

The PleurX turned out to be a good idea, and I was draining 2 Liters every other day for several weeks while the chemo took time to build up in my system. Then a welcome thing happened. Around the 3rd week into chemo, I started getting less fluid when I drained, until there was barely a trickle. My symptoms resolved as my stomach flattened back out. The chemo was working! After nearly a month without any sign of fluid accumulation, it was determined that the PleurX could come out. 

Now they say hindsight is 20/20 and it’s never worth second guessing past decisions, but it soon became clear that we shouldn’t have been so quick to take the catheter out. My relief from symptoms only lasted a couple of weeks and then the fluid started to build with a vengeance. I knew this was bad news. My oncologist does not have a good poker face, and as soon as I saw her I knew it was bad. The cancer had stopped responding to the chemo. She ordered an ultrasound and confirmed that I needed a paracentesis. This was a difficult blow for me. I had just started feeling good for the first time in months. And I had grown accustom to the ease (and painlessness) of draining with the PleurX. I was devastated when they told me to schedule the procedure immediately. 

I was scheduled for the procedure on Halloween. I was dreading it and spent the day prior in tears, fearing the painful procedure. Andy did his best to comfort me, but he too knew the implications of having the fluid come back so fast. The mood was dark. The day started to turn around for me when I got to the hospital. The mood was festive for Halloween and the talk was all about the unusual Halloween snow storm, trick or treating and candy. By the time I got into the procedure room, I was feeling less anxious, almost relaxed. The nurses were amazing and we had great conversations about travel and life and kicking cancer’s ass! After the “little pinch and the burn”, the procedure went smoothly and I felt much better. After it was done, they asked if I wanted a dinosaur escort to back to the waiting room and my loving husband. I immediately jumped on that and said, “heck yeah, who wouldn’t want a dinosaur escort?!” The nurse struggled and squirmed back into her T-Rex costume and we made our way through the halls. It was the best walk down a hospital corridor I’ve ever had. People smiled. Heads turned. High fives were given (which is funnier than you would imagine with short little T-Rex arms). It’s amazing how the little things can do so much to turn a mood around. I ended up having a good Halloween after all. 

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I am Not my Hair- Take 2

I am Not my Hair- Take 2

Everything I read about Abraxane, my current IV chemo, says that hair loss starts around the third dose. Last Tuesday was my third treatment and, sure enough, a couple of days after the infusion, I started shedding. It’s hard to describe the sensation. It’s a tingly, itchy feeling. It feels similar to the way your scalp feels if you part your hair in a new place, or leave a ponytail in too long. If you know this feeling, it just feels wrong. 

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We started with an undercut, just in case it wasn’t all actually going to fall out. I let Alyssa make a heart with the electric shaver. I kept it like this for about a week.

After the 4th treatment, the shedding and odd sensations became even more pronounced, so I knew it was time to do something more drastic. That something, this time around, would be a purple mohawk. I guess it’s tradition. In 2014, when my hair started coming out in clumps from my first run through chemo, I decided to put the electric shaver in the kids hands and have some fun with it. That time, I was determined to hit cancer hard and never look back. I dealt with the hair loss as a temporary situation to reclaim my health. 

This time around, it has a different meaning to me. The hair loss is insignificant compared to the improvement I sense in cancer’s symptoms in my abdomen. The first time around, I never had any symptoms to indicate cancer was developing. I was strong and healthy before my diagnosis. This time, I have been suffering from various pains, and the accumulation of fluid in the peritoneal lining (the lining surrounding the digestive tract). The chemo has significantly reduced the amount of fluid, my appetite is coming back and I’m starting to feel better. So I don’t care so much about the balding head (except that it’s cold!). 

Thursday night, I decided it was time to dig out the shaver again. I got some pizza and put on the Packer game and we proceeded to shave it off. Ironically, it took me a couple of years after the first chemo to leave my hair alone and let it grow out. I was just beginning to like the length.

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But that isn’t really relevant. The girls decided that Kaylei would do the rest of the cutting and Alyssa would dye it purple.

Friday, my buddy Crystal brought over lunch and we spiked up the mohawk and then cut it down to a more manageable height. My brother and sis-in-law dropped in to witness the beginning of the mohawk! We’ll see how long I can stand the tingly, itchy feeling. I’m thinking pretty soon it will be time to buzz it all off. I’m collecting warm, fuzzy hats now. Winter in WI is not the best time to be bald…

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If I’m going to sport a purple mohawk, I better go bold.

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Soon, I’ll be able to make a new “hair raising” video!!

 

Once in a Blue Moon

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I’m changing my handle from “Queen of Side Effects” to “Blue Moon”. It seems every time my doctor talks about side effects that happen only once in a blue moon, they happen to me. And it works well with my last name (Blue Moon Knight). So, yesterday I experienced something that only happens once in a blue moon (in 2% of patients, to be precise).

After working through insurance delays, and lab test, and a surgery to insert a MedPort, I was set to start Taxol, the iv chemo that would be my 3rd line of treatment. 

I arrived at the clinic and went back to the lab area to have blood drawn. I was happy to be able to access the MedPort (more on that procedure in the next post) and give my veins a break from the constant pokes. This is where the day started to go wrong. They could flush saline into the port, but no blood was coming back out of the port. We tried all the tricks-raise one arm, raise both arms, look left and cough, look right and cough. After about 5 syringes of saline, I was sent back to the infusion room to see if the nurse would have any better luck. I ran through all the tricks again, but I drew the line at turning cartwheels. No blood. So, it was time to inject something to break up the clot. Unfortunately, we needed to give it 30 minutes to work, so it was decided to use my arm for the blood draw after all, preventing further delays in starting the IV. 

visit from a friend

At the end of the 30 minute wait, my friend stopped in and gave me some good luck to get the port flowing. It worked and we were back in business! I was hooked up to saline and a variety of pre-meds (Benadryl, steroids, etc) were given to help reduce the side effects of the Taxol. All was going well, and soon I could smell the chocolate chip cookies baking!! Yes, you heard right. Another friend was there volunteering in the clinic, and part of her duties include baking cookies! I got the first one hot out of the oven! I’ll take the silver lining wherever I find it.

A couple hours into the appointment, it was finally time to add the Taxol to my IV. Immediately, my day turned upside down. I felt the drug the instant it hit my bloodstream. Suddenly, everything felt wrong. Thankfully, Andy was there to get the nurse, because I couldn’t function. Within moments, I was having a severe allergic reaction to the new chemo. It’s almost impossible to put the experience into words. I felt heat and pain spread through my body. My heart rate skyrocketed and my blood pressure went out of control. My face turned hot and red and I broke out into a terrible sweat. I was in agony, throwing up, unable to breath, open my eyes or answer questions. I’ve never experienced anything like it before (and hope never to again!) I had three nurses adding stuff to the IV to counter the reaction. I was given oxygen. The doctor suddenly appeared by my side, rubbing my arm, reminding me to breath, asking me questions, and reassuring me that I was going to be okay. My mind was racing almost as fast as my heart. Now what? If I can’t tolerate this treatment, what options do I have left? All of it was completely horrifying. 

Gradually, the meds they gave me started to relieve the symptoms and I was feeling better. They mentioned that we could try the infusion again, at a slower pace, but we all agreed that it wasn’t worth the risk. The reaction the first time was dramatic enough and I wasn’t ready to experience that again. Ever! 

The doctor eased my fears about what we would do next when she explained that my reaction was to the other drugs mixed in with the Taxol. Luckily, there is another version of Taxol which does not contain the same mix. She would switch me to that. Of course, that means one more delay in treatment, pending insurance approval and a holiday weekend. I am now scheduled to start treatment next Tuesday, meaning I will have gone without treatment for over a month. It is frightening to think of what the cancer is doing without anything to fight it, but I am hopeful that the next infusion goes much more smoothly, and I can get back to kicking cancer’s ass. 

In the meantime, Andy’s company gave us two tickets to the Packer game tomorrow night. I am super excited. I’m a lifelong Packer fan who has never been to Lambeau Field. Nothing is going to make me miss this game! Bucket List item-Check!

Changing Course

It has been a summer full of adventure. Some ups and some downs, but overall, a pretty good summer. Amid doctor’s appointments and pills and side effects, we managed to squeeze in a big road trip West, State Fair, Ren Faire, Girls Rock and a couple camping trips. We also started a butterfly garden! This is life with metastatic cancer. You never know when, or where, disease progression will hit. Take every opportunity to take the trip, see the friends, tackle the bucket list. Live fully, in small increments (between naps). Things may change quickly, putting simple things out of reach. 

My first sign of metastasis was a year ago, when fluid filled around my lungs. Chest tubes and Ibrance took care of that for a few months, then the cancer moved to my pelvis. A second drug, Xeloda resolved those problems and I had a few healthy months. In May, I started having new issues in my abdomen. My appetite was terrible, complete with GI issues and a swelling belly. I told my oncologist before our big trip out west, but CT and pet scans showed stability, and she said “take the trip”. I knew in my gut, though, that something wasn’t right. I’m tuned into my body, now more than ever, and I always know something is wrong before any tests confirm it.

July 5th, we loaded up the camping gear, and aimed west with a loose plan. We saw the Bonneville salt flats, and ran fast over the crunchy surface. We went to Crater Lake, Andy’s favorite National Park, and dipped in the unworldly, pristine water. We made it all the way to the pacific coast, where the girls floated in salt water for the first time. We walked among the giant redwoods. Heading back east over twisty mountain passes, we stopped at “Borden State Park” to get to know Adventure Trio and share travel stories around the campfire. Kaylei was the bold one who jumped off the waterfall. We saw the Tetons. We lingered in Custer, SD, where Michelle’s hospitality at Chalet Motel was a warm and welcoming step back in time. We explored caves, roamed with bison and saw the badlands again. We covered a lot of miles. 5,200 miles, to be exact (no breakdowns-well, for the truck, anyway. The kids may have had a few…)

Back home, we had a few days to re-pack for a weekend of camping and the triathlon where a new batch of brave cancer surviving women (Hey Team Phoenix!) became triathletes. We were there to cheer and help take pictures for the team. That was how our July went. I was making the most of everything, even though I was feeling worse and worse. By the Sunday morning of the triathlon (July 28th), I was ready to go to the hospital. Our 5:00 alarm wasn’t going to get me moving. I sent everyone ahead, took some pain pills and caught up in time to watch the race start. Packing up camp was exhausting, but with help from the family, I made it home to unpack. I re-packed  again. This time, it was my hospital bag, an all too familiar process now. 

After several hours of tests, and waiting (mostly waiting) in the ER, I was told I could either leave and let my oncologist order a paracentesis (a procedure to drain fluid from around the abdomen), or be admitted and do the procedure the next day. I couldn’t have waited much longer, so I was admitted for a long, uncomfortable night in the hospital.  I did have a few lovely visitors brighten my mood.

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As the fluid started draining, I could feel instant relief. I could breath better, the nausea stopped, the pain in my spine faded, and I started to feel better. 4.2 Liters of fluid was taken. I’m not sure where I kept it, but I know why I felt like I swallowed a bowling ball and looked pregnant. It was nearly twelve pounds of fluid.

In the hospital, I stopped the oral chemo (it didn’t work…) I would meet with my oncologist to determine my third line of treatment. She went to tumor board with my case and settled on a hormone blocker with another oral chemo. In the meantime, to my shock, the fluid started building with days. Before I could start the new treatment, I was back at the hospital for another paracentesis. This time they drained 2.5 liters (just 2 weeks after the first procedure). 

Friday, Aug 16, I had a few more tests and a consult with the oncologist for the new meds. She entered the room with news that we were changing course. The pills she wanted me on would not work fast enough given that the fluid had came back so fast.  We needed a more aggressive treatment. She told me it was time for IV chemo again.  This was a day I was hoping would be years in the future. IV chemo is usually reserved for late in the game when more aggressive action is necessary. My oncologist assured me that I could go back to try the pill combo once I stabilize. We also discussed Foundation One testing, which could be helpful in tailoring treatments to my needs.

I left the appointment with a lot on my mind – side effects, hair loss, being tethered to weekly appointments. I packed the truck up and headed to the family lake house to relax and prepare for this next step. I missed lake time last year for the first time in my life, in exchange for 6 nights in the hospital with chest tubes, so I wasn’t missing lake time this year! It’s been nice taking a minute, but I’m ready to face the next treatment in hopes that it resolves the fluid and pain. 

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Thursday, I have a small surgery to place a port in my chest, so the chemo drugs don’t damage my veins. Then Friday, I have my first of the weekly Taxol infusions. Weekly treatments limit my wanderlust, so I’m happy we got another long trip in before starting this regime.  Let’s hope this one gives me (a lot) more time. 

Travel has taught me a lot about serendipity and changing course when needed. I trust that my doctor is guiding me in the right direction to get back on the road I want to follow. 

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Five Year Cancerversary

fiveyearsToday marks the five year anniversary of the day I heard the words nobody wants to hear. “You have cancer”. The five year “cancerversary” is a big milestone for most cancer survivors because, statistically, after five years the chances of recurrence drop significantly. For me, that part no longer applies since my cancer has already metastasized. Despite that, I’m still going to celebrate my five year survivorship. I’m still surviving. Looking back, these five years have certainly had rough spots. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that. 

These five years have also been packed with love, adventure and great experiences. Looking back, these have been some of the best years of my life. I married the love of my life. We bought a house together and built a home (We’re days away from finishing our kick-ass bathroom renovation!). We’ve become a tight family of four. I joined Team Phoenix and gained an entire family of amazing sisters. I completed two triathlons, and encouraged my kids to try it. We took an epic two month long trip (our “Familymoon”) in a vintage RV named Cliff. We camped and explored several National Parks, include some amazing places in the Canadian Rockies. We rode horses to a tea house high over Lake Louis. We’ve come face to face with a grizzly bear and her baby. We’ve ridden motorcycles through these breath-taking National Parks. We’ve slept under a meteor showers in the Badlands. We’ve hiked glaciers, stood on the edge of the Grand Canyon, sat in natural hot springs, jumped off a cliff into an icy Blue Hole, and hike to remote Cliff dwellings. I’ve been blessed. These five years with family and friends have brought me so much joy. 

Our plans for new adventures are always bubbling. We have a couple more trips planned for 2019 already and my bucket list is over-flowing with adventures I want to share with my family. I also have a few applications in for retreats that have been established for cancer patients. One includes the family and one is all about pampering little ole’ me. 

I can certainly say that cancer has changed my life in many ways. It has become cliche, but the diagnosis has made me more aware of the things that are important. It has helped me shed the things that were holding me down. It  has taught me to listen to my body and take care of my health. It has given me a sense of urgency to live fully and pack in the things I want to do and share with my family. It has taught me to say “yes” to the challenges, get-togethers, and activities, in case I don’t get another chance. (Well-except for the “Frosty 5K” race that my friends did in spite of negative 20 degree temperatures- That challenge was not for me…) It has also made me aware of my mortality (a condition all of us share). Not one of us knows how long we have to live, and nobody has an expiration date stamped on them. I now take each day as it comes and do what I can. Some are better than others, but I’m sure that’s not unique to me.

Life has become a tough balancing act, facing an incurable illness. The pains and fatigue and sickness are real. The fear of what the future holds is real. My goal is to not let that fear paralyze me. Fear won’t stop me from planning my future. Fear won’t stop me from pushing my limits. Fear won’t stop me from taking each day for what it is, good and bad. My goal is to stay strong (thank you Team Phoenix for making it a priority to be Strong, Proud, Alive and Re-Defined!!). My goal is to raise my daughters and give them the opportunities to learn and grow and explore the world. My goal is to thrive despite a cancer diagnosis. I’ll always have hope that the good days outweigh the rough days. I’ll always have hope for a cure. I’m taking it one step at a time. Today-I’m celebrating five years thriving with cancer. I hope there will be cake! (Honey-will there be cake?)

Health Insurance Blues

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I have a love/hate relationship with my health insurance company. It is a necessary evil. Without it, I would be way beyond medical bankruptcy. With it, insurance providers control aspects of my health care that should be between me and my doctors. There’s not much I can do about it. In my invincible 20’s, I thought I didn’t need health insurance. I was living a very healthy lifestyle. I ate well and got plenty of exercise and sleep. I was healthy. I still am healthy, actually, except for this one thing….

As I got older, I realized I needed insurance. Now I know how lucky I am to have good health insurance. I also know the frustrations. Insurance issues are a common problem in my network of cancer patient friends. Chemo and surgery are being delay, or worse, denied by insurance companies. I understand that medical costs dictate some things, but it hurts to see women who can’t get the life-saving treatments they need because insurance companies won’t pay. The added stress dealing with insurance issues and finances is the last thing a cancer patient needs. Stress kills.

Medical costs with a life-long illness are mind boggling. I stopped adding up expenses after my first year of treatment. I left off around $600,000. Since then, I’ve had 4 more surgeries, several scans, tests, and shockingly costly chemo meds. I’m guessing that by now I’m a million dollar baby. Luckily, My insurance has covered most of my medical bills without too many headaches. This makes my current argument more frustrating. 

Last night, I tossed and turned. I was hit with a panic attack. I don’t know who dropped the ball. Somewhere between my cancer center, the pharmacy, and the insurance company, my chemo meds did not arrive on my doorstep in time for me to start my current cycle. My loving husband is much more calm and cool than I am.  He’s better at handling long waits on hold and repeated conversations that go nowhere. He has spent hours on the phone every day this week trying to get my pills for me. For some unexplained reason, the pharmacy claims we had a change of insurance and did not approve my meds. Our insurance company did not change. We did upgrade our plan as of the first of the year with a lower deductible and co-pay (still trying to avoid medical bankruptcy). The pharmacy already sent one round of pills in January, so I don’t know what the issue is. I’m angry because nobody informed me that there may be an issue with my pills. It’s my third cycle of pills, nothing new or unforeseen. 

I was supposed to start taking them on Sunday. Now it’s Wednesday, and I’m still waiting for the hospital to get a pre-authorization for the insurance company. (And my cancer clinic is closed today due to weather). In the overall scheme of things, missing a week of pills should not have a profound effect my health, I’ve been told. That’s hard to wrap my head around, though. I’ve had a rapid, positive response to this new med after only two cycles, and the delay is messing with my head. Friends have said that I’m lucky to get a nice break from side effects. True enough. Side effects suck. But I can’t help but fear that the delay is giving cancer a chance to regain a foothold. This is not something I should have to stress about. If everyone had done their jobs and got my cancer meds to me on time, or at least informed me early enough that there may be a problem so we could have started leaning on them sooner, I wouldn’t have a problem. 

I’ve had a rough seven months dealing with the effects of cancer metastasizing around my lungs and abdomen. The first line of treatment did not work and my symptoms were coming back. By fall my shortness of breath and cough started up again. The fluid around my abdomen worsened, and I had pain and a loss of appetite. Over the holidays, I lost weight that I didn’t want to lose. I was exhausted, and generally feeling ill, weak, and frail. After two rounds with my second line of treatment (the pill I’m currently waiting on), these symptoms started to improve. The cough went away. My gut no longer felt like I had a bowling ball in it. My appetite improved. The meds are working. I want my meds. I want my health.

Maybe I’m just cranky because the windchill is 55 BELOW zero.  

This Phoenix Will Rise Again

This Phoenix Will Rise Again

The fire and ashes are building all around me. I’ve been through this cycle of burning down and rising up from the ashes before, and I will do it again. Metastatic Breast Cancer. My current set-back.  As a breast cancer survivor, it’s not an unexpected hurdle. Sadly, I’ve witnessed my peers going through similar difficulties. All I can do is take it day by day, trust my treatment plan, and do my best to redefine myself once more.

I haven’t been feeling well for some time. I wrote it off to my slow recovery from the knee injury, and the fact that I have not been able to get back into a regular exercise routine. This spring, I generally felt weak and out of shape. About a month ago, my symptoms were getting noticeably worse. I had shortness of breath, and I developed wheezing and a cough. I have to say, this is the worst cough I’ve ever had. And I’ve had all forms of bronchitis, pneumonia, etc. This is definitely worse.

On July 23rd, I went to the ER with sharp pain in my ribs along with the severe cough and shortness of breath. I knew something was not right with my lungs. After a number of tests, I ended up being hospitalized overnight. They found that I have pleural effusion (fluid in the lining around both my lungs). They did a thoracentesis (stuck a catheter into the pleural cavity via my back- yes, I was awake…) on the right side to drain the fluid and sent it for analysis. The left side was more complicated. The fluid was loculated, hardened into multiple, fibrotic pockets, therefore, not free flowing nor able to drain. I was told at this time that surgery would be the only way to clear the gunk from my left side.

Over the next week or so, I did several other tests, X-rays, CT scan and blood work. And coughed and coughed. 

On August 1st, I saw my oncologist to try to make sense of the results and develop a treatment plan. The fluid in my pleural cavity (space around my lungs) contains cancer cells that had spread from my original breast tumor. All of the other scans are clear, though, and the cells have not formed any tumors that could be detected. Of course, ILC, Invasive Lobular Carcinoma is known for being extremely difficult to detect via scan, so there’s that grain of salt. 

The cells have changed slightly from the original tumor (ER/PR+HER2- to ER+PR/HER2-), but not enough for me to need to go through chemo again. My doctor will put me on hormone therapies (Ibrance and Faslodex) which attack the cells directly. In her experience with other patients, the cells are quite responsive to this therapy. 

Originally, my oncologist felt that the surgery would be too invasive, and that the treatment would clear up the fluid. However, at my next appointment, on August 9th, when I told her that the cough was becoming unbearable, she called the lung specialist. He advised that since the left side is loculated, it will be difficult for the hormones to get into the fluid to do their thing, and he recommended the surgery. With that, he and my oncologist called a lung surgeon immediately and I got in for an appointment the next day. Yay, the perks of having a dream team of connected super-doctors.

Yesterday, August 10th, I met with the lung surgeon to discuss a robotic surgery, called thorascopy (no, I will NOT be awake this time). He will make a small incision and insert a camera, and several other incisions for the surgical instruments that will be used to “break up” the pockets and scrape out the goo. After that, there are two possible outcomes. Either my lung will re-inflate and he will put talc in the cavity to make the lung stick to the pleural lining so that fluid can’t re-fill the cavity. Or, my lung won’t re-inflate, due to damage or tumors or other bad stuff, and he will need to leave a catheter (chest tube) in so that the fluid can continue to drain. This could be for a matter of weeks or months. I’m pulling for option one! But, at this point, I’ll do whatever it takes to relieve the cough and get the cancer cells out. If that means a chest tube, then that means a chest tube. Depending on the outcome, I could be in the hospital for one night or for several nights.

Wasting no time, surgery is scheduled for this Monday, August 13th. This is the least amount of time I’ve ever had to prepare for surgery. My pre-surgery nesting mode is kicking in to high gear, but I don’t really have the energy to do the things on my “to-do” list, so I’m just going to have to accept that stuff isn’t going to get done before surgery. Surgery and healing are my number one priority right now.

This is not a hurdle I wanted to face, but it is the hurdle in front of me, so I have no choice but to charge at it and jump it. Overall, I am very positive about fully recovering from this. Right now, I am laying low and resting as much as I can (and did I mention, coughing…). I look forward to getting some relief soon with the surgery. I will keep everyone updated as new info comes in.