Another visit to the oncology nurses in the second week since my first chemo was administered. I think I’ve called them on average every 3 days with some other question or concern.  This has led to me visiting the hospital (oncology office) twice to have them check my blood counts and see me in person.  Given the situation, better to err on the side of caution on this one – the nurses and the doctors I’ve spoken to have all agreed and encouraged me to keep calling with my questions.

My questions center around me having a bit of a cold. One is not supposed to get sick while mid-chemo treatment plan.  My track record the winter of 2014-2015 has been my worst in all of my 40 years. I not only got the flu for the first time in my life for a week but I followed it up with full on pneumonia which knocked me out of work for the entire month of December.  Even after I recovered it seems I’ve had a runny nose almost constantly from there with perhaps a few days here or there that I was 100% sniffles-free.  So – asking me to be without-cold is logical but, likely not in the cards for me.

Either way, here I am – little, viral cold and all. At unscheduled visit post-call to the oncology nurses, my doctor put me on one antibiotic for 7 days. Then I had another strange, possible infection show up as well in my jaw (have I mentioned that I had 2 root canals on a Monday and Tuesday and on Thursday had my first chemo? Ah yes – another story for another day!).  Anyway – now, following my second, unscheduled visit post-call to the oncology nurses, my new, odd –possible infection has led me to start yet another antibiotic which would be suitable for THIS issue.  Pills, pills pills. And more pills. I’ve never had so many medications in my body in my life. So many drugs administered by IV and with the chemo and now so many pills for managing my body chemistry to keep me healthy and out of harm’s way. I feel like a druggie – pill popper; just wasn’t expecting it.  Oh well. It is what it has to be. These doctors know their stuff; I trust them.

4 Stages of Grief:  Denial. Depression. Anger. Acceptance.  Today I’m in the Anger stage.  My body is failing me – abandoning me. Every day something else new and wonderful shows up that warrants a call to the oncology nurses. So frustrating. I’m sick of being sick. It’s like I hit 40 and my warranty expired. WTF !? Now that I cannot go to the gym I wonder why I ever wasted all of those other days not going when I was healthy. It’s all in perspective isn’t it?

Anger I’m sure is an obvious part of being a cancer patient. It’s just that I feel like a bucking bronco in the pen with a rider on its back. I just want out of the pen and the rider the F! off of my back! Yup. That about describes my frustration. I’m not a patient person. My spirit is strong. I know I can do this . I just wish …

What do I wish? Well honestly – I guess I should be grateful when I step back and take a second to gain perspective. I should…. Be grateful that I’m physically strong to get through this.  Be grateful that my nausea has gone away for now. Be grateful that my colleagues, manager, and friends are so supportive of me and that I have the wonderful doctors and care facilities supporting my care during this time. Be grateful that I have enough fight I me to not give up on anything. Buck up little bronco; it’s a marathon not an 8 sec ride….

That’s what the Diagnostic Radiologist called me when she and I were chatting during my second biopsy (this one of the 5 mm tumor). My family isn’t known to be weak and whiny. We are survivors. We see the problem. Make a plan. Move on. We control of our lives, they don’t control us.

My Mother is deceptively tough, having survived my father walking out on her when I was 3. Not only did she take control of her life but she provided me with an amazingly stable, loving childhood where I never wanted for anything, and she went on to retire with a nice nest egg to ensure that she’s taken care of for life. She never remarried. She raised me by herself and succeeded in the times of Title IX and big shoulder pads. She’s my hero.

As an undergraduate studying science, one of my mentors, a young, just-hired female  professor recommended that I read “Women Don’t Ask” by Linda Babcock. I read it and shared it with my Mother. Amazing book. It’s true. We don’t ask. So I started asking and being more aware of the barriers I faced as an educated (PhD) scientist going into the industrial work force.

I am strong. My mother taught me to be nothing but strong and to persevere. I’m a highly educated woman with a PhD in science. Fast forward to the diagnosis and suddenly I find myself in a room with a doctor telling me I have breast cancer. It was surreal.  Given my education (I’d originally imagined my career landing me a job in a pharmaceutical company’s R&D department designing and synthesizing new drugs to target such diseases as cancer )– I wasn’t scared about not understanding what the doctor was telling me about my cancer. The science of what they know and don’t know didn’t scare me and still doesn’t to this day. What was unnerving was that less than a week ago all I was thinking was that I had a routine OB-GYN check up on Wednesday, and perhaps a first mammogram and now I have breast cancer and need to choose an oncologist and work with a team of doctors to determine my course of treatment. WTF?!