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Hesitantly rejoicing and Dose 5: taxol

July 10, 2018

Last Thursday, I had my CT scan. I had asked the doctor if there was a way to check my status since in the past I had gone from clean to cancer in just a matter of months, so that’s what we did. I didn’t look the scan up or think much about it, so I was caught off guard when I walked in and they asked me if I wanted an IV in my arm or if I wanted to use my port. I don’t know why, but it really upset me. While my port does make the actual process of blood draws and infusions easier, accessing it really stresses me out. The nurses kindly accepted my crying while she did it. The scan itself was a piece of cake.

As the weekend went on, I felt anxiety thinking about my next infusion. It’s a different drug and some people have reactions while it’s happening. It also has a different set of side effects, and just not knowing what to expect is hard (even though we’ve learned that things rarely go as expected.)

On Sunday we went to church and the song service was a soothing balm for my heart. We says Aaron Keyes’ “Dwell” which reminded me that I am shielded and covered by my Heavenly Father. No weapon (or cancer) can ultimately prosper against me. This doesn’t mean I will be healed in this life, but it brought me to a more peaceful place of remembering Who is actually in control of my life. This doesn’t mean I didn’t think about what it would be like if the scan revealed more cancer.

Monday morning, I was a ball of nerves. And thankfully a friend reminded me Sunday that anxiety is a natural response and while we shouldn’t feed it, it’s not realistic to think we can make just make it go away. I accepted my anxiety and tried not to let the awful traffic, impending new infusion and scan results overwhelm me.

Before I even went back to have my port accessed I was in tears. I’m tired of being jabbed. The blood draw went okay, but it didn’t feel completely comfortable in my chest. I came out of the room and was met by another patient checking in who said “I know you’re having a moment, but I just wanted to let you know I’m 6 months past radiation. I know what it feels like to be where you are…” I don’t remember what else she said, but she hugged me and blessed me and then later gave me her phone number and email.

Then we went upstairs to see Dr. Z. He came in and said your scans looked good, but let me pull them up to see exactly what they said. He said there was no cancer in my pelvis, abdomen or chest. There’s some calcification in my lower back and a 2mm spot in my left lung that has occasionally been noted, but is not of concern. Then, Jonathan recalls him saying “Congratulations, you’re cancer free.” I think I was in shock, but so happy and relieved. I wish I had asked him a million more questions like “Are you sure?”

I think after the roller coaster we’ve been on in the last almost year with having a clear PET scan and then there being more and now going through all this, it’s hard for me to be 100% thrilled by this news. I don’t think they will ever say that I’m cured, but I believe in the next 3-5 years, my risk of recurrence will have dropped enough that I will be in the clear. Truly, I’ll probably never feel completely in the clear, but the concern will greatly decrease at a certain point. So while I have a long way to go, this is an amazing start. I am hesitantly rejoicing, and un-hesitantly drinking the bottle of Veuve Clicquot that my baby sister gifted me months ago and that we had been saving for a special occasion.

The day continued to be wonderful. I was anxious getting set up for my infusion since my nurse had to warn me about all the possible reactions. She gave me a big dose of Benadryl, so I almost passed out before it even started. They also gave me a steroid and Pepcid in my IV. This dose takes a lot longer than the other one. I had to wait 30 minutes after the pre-meds, and then they started the taxol (or Paclitaxel). Then that’s a 3 hour drip. Thankfully I had no side effects. My friend Charity came to see me again and we worked on some knitting using the actual yarn I’ll make my afghan with.

They had ordered the Neulasta thing to put on my arm again which confused me because last time they said I didn’t have to do it again, but we finally got word from Dr. Z that I didn’t actually have to have it. He said to the PA “She won’t need it. You’ll see.” My blood counts continue to be great, and I’m so grateful. I also don’t have any prescribed medicines to take following these chemo treatments. (I was taking a steroid 2x a day for 3 days following the AC treatments.) I can take nausea medicine as needed, but I haven’t needed it. Main side effects of this one are bone pain and neuropathy/tingling in the hands and feet. So we’ll see how it goes.

The nurse told me the steroid they gave me yesterday tends to give patients a lot of energy for a few days, so “take advantage of it, but don’t overdo it.” So that’s what I’m trying to do this morning. I feel great, but I usually do on Tuesday mornings. I’m going to try to take it easy, but am so glad to be feeling good.

Thank you all for your love and excitement over our news. I hope this helps you understand why I may not be quite as over the moon, but I really am thrilled. It’s a long journey. Some of you have asked whether this will affect the rest of my treatment – it won’t. I’ll still finish out this chemo and then have 6 weeks of radiation in the fall. It’s how they plan for me to stay cancer-free. So we continue to take it one day, one treatment, one scan at a time, giving thanks in everything (or trying our very best anyway).

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

One Comment leave one →
  1. Andy Zimmerman permalink
    July 10, 2018 23:06

    Praise God from whom all blessings flow! Kim and I continue to pray for your healing every day, Grace. As for me, I’m on two weeks “chemo vacation” so I can drive to Asheville for my daughter’s wedding this weekend. Then, start cycle 2 of the XELOX regimen next Tuesday. Thank you for sharing your journey with us. It has been very helpful for me in my own journey.

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