Breast Cancer Warrior: Buying Chemo

There is a setting in my vehicle for driving in snow and ice. When I flip that switch, the SUV slows down.You can feel the wheels pulling more cautiously at the road, feeling tentatively for traction and taking the time to confirm that they've secured it. It feels more sluggish to drive in this setting. The car doesn't really want to move faster than 40MPH, and, to be honest, that's about as fast as I'd want to go on slick roads anyway. I felt that way during the first week after chemotherapy. It's like my body was moving more sluggishly, more tentatively through its environment. Hopefully, like with my vehicle's features, it was with a purpose-- my body calculating what it needed and working to gain the upper hand against cancer. There was now an official war waging inside my body between an intense drug cocktail and the existing tumor invasion, and a large part of my energy had to be shifted over to battle.

"What are the advantages of doing chemo?" I'd asked my oncologist the week before. "Can we just do surgery? Can't we just cut the tumor out and skip chemo?" It seemed simple in my non-medical mind: cut out the bad piece and things would go back to normal, right?

He explained the issues with trying to remove a large, growing tumor, and how we would need to reign in its growth before surgery. "That is where chemotherapy comes in. With an aggressive tumor, we need to do the chemo first to stop its spreading. There is also the possibility, if the tumor shrinks enough, that you would need a less invasive surgery."

Chemo scared me. Whenever I pictured "chemo patient" in my mind, I imagined a bald, frail, sickly person. I wanted to be strong and present for my kids, my husband, my friends, and my students. How could I attend to all my responsibilities if I wasn't at my best condition? It was tough to mentally wrap my mind around slowing myself down. I wanted to live at my normal pace. I don't like being still for long. I typically don't even like spending an entire day at home.

A lot of my fear about chemo was a fear of the unknown. I would have to face my fear, especially when the MRI confirmed the large size of the tumor: 6cm by 3.5cm by 6cm. It had grown quite a bit since the earlier estimate at the biopsy the month before, and I was starting to understand what my oncologist meant about it being "aggressive". We had to rage war against this thing, stat.

Another fear was of simply putting a bunch of drugs into my body. As I joked to my husband the day before chemo, "I eat a ton of veggies and I don't even drink soda. Are these weird chemicals going to send my body into shock?" The only "prescription" I'd been taking for the last few years was a prenatal vitamin, for Pete's sake. Now I was just supposed to pour a bunch of hardy drugs straight into my veins? Wouldn't my system be overwhelmed? Would it go into some kind of lock-down? Would it send out the missile defense? Was there a secret self-destruct button some understated organ like my liver or kidneys would push when they tasted Taxotere?

I realized that I had to shove my worries aside. We can let our fears get the best of us, but that only leads to other negative emotions. I could instead focus on the positive. Bringing something fun to do, trying to get a laugh out of my oncology nurses, and joking with my ever-entertaining husband would make chemo a less frightening environment. I took a few deep breaths and felt at peace that, even though I was walking through a tough time now, everything would work out eventually. Family and friends were praying for me, I was praying for strength myself, and I had a team of physicians who listened to me diligently and answered all my questions. Between God and the medical staff, I felt like I had a pretty powerful team on my side in this cancer battle, which encouraged me and minimized my dreaded fear. I was ready to go to war packing that hardy and brutal ammunition known as chemotherapy.