Breast cancer is a nightmare roller-coaster ride

 

Since this is my first blog for 2022, I feel obliged to start it with "Happy New Year!", "Happy Valentine's!" and "Happy Easter!".

I have lived with Stage II Grade III invasive pleomorphic lobular carcinoma (PLC) of the breast that is hormone- and HER2 positive for 1,001 days. Living with hormone-positive breast cancer is a roller-coaster ride nightmare that doesn't seem to end. 

The first phase is waiting - waiting for the results of the numerous diagnostic tests is like standing in the queue to get onto a roller-coaster. You get tired and often think of leaving the line.

Then starts the second phase - that killer climb to the top of the first hill. You've now found out that you have breast cancer. Several doctors confirmed it. The many available treatment options are confusing. With each click of the chain lift, you learn something new, or there are more medical aid forms to fill out. It feels as if you need to rush to make a decision before the roller-coaster reaches the top of the lift hill. You are not really ready for the ride, but feel somewhat prepared. You have a team of doctors on your side that acts as your safety mechanism to keep you from falling out. 

Then comes the big drop. Everything accelerates! It feels like everything is happening at once. You feel sick, cannot breathe, and your stomach is turning. The roller-coaster ride has started. You go through a banked turn that changes into a helix. Then the train enters a brake run, and you can breathe again. But before you can blink, there is another launch run, and you go into a hammerhead turn that makes you want to vomit. Just as you think the next brake run means that the ride is finished, the train enters another launch run, followed by a cobra roll and a corkscrew. You get anxious, lose your voice, and cannot scream anymore. When you think the nightmare ride will end, the train goes into drive drop, a dive loop, a vertical loop, etc.

It is exhausting! There are short moments when you can catch your breath before the next horrendous turn or dive makes you feel sick again. 

My breast cancer journey

What follows is a timeline of defining moments in my journey to date.

2019

8 July 2019: Routine mammogram

9 July 2019: Second opinion mammogram

11 July 2019: Fine needle aspiration

23 July 2019: The family doctor tells me that I have breast cancer

1-3 August 2019: Hospitalised for a surgical biopsy

30 Aug-1 Sep 2019: Hospitalised for bilateral mastectomy and direct-to-implant reconstruction

27-29 September 2019: Hospitalised for debridement of the wounds

25 October 2019: Start with chemotherapy (Taxol once a week - 18 treatment cycles)

13-14 November 2019: Hospitalised to remove the right implant

22 November 2019: Start with Herceptin injections (once every three weeks - 15 treatment cycles)

2020

6 March 2020: Last chemotherapy session!

27 March 2020: COVID-19 lockdown

9 April 2020: Start Tamoxifen hormone-blocking therapy

6-8 May 2020: Hospitalised to insert a tissue expander in the right breast

20 November 2020: Last Herceptin injection! & start Zoladex injections (hormone-blocking therapy once every three months for 5-10 years)

30 Nov-1 Dec 2020: Hospitalised to remove the tissue expander and insert a new implant

24 December 2020: I start taking Menograine to treat the hot flashes

2021

19 February 2021: The oncologist told me that I am in complete remission

15-16 May 2021: Hospitalised for nipple reconstruction

15 June 2021: Appointment with a psychiatrist - I start taking Venlor for severe depression

6 August 2021: I test positive for SARS-CoV-2 (COVID-19)

22 November 2021: The psychiatrist increases the dosage of my anti-depressant

2022

18 February 2022: The oncologist takes me off Tamoxifen and replaces it with Anastrozole

14 March 2022: I finally get my nipples tattooed

8 April 2022: The psychiatrist increases my anti-depressant dosage (again!)

Regular follow-up screenings

Breast cancer recurrence can happen within the first few years or many years after the diagnosis. Based on my specific type of breast cancer, I have a moderate to high risk of recurrence. Naturally, this leaves me in a constant state of anxiousness. 

I still see the oncologist for a check-up every three months, and she sends me for screening tests every six months. 

Living with breast cancer

Living with hormone-positive breast cancer is like having the Sword of Damocles hanging over your head for 10 to 15 years. You live in fear that every ache or pain could mean recurrence. 

Other than the constant worry, I do not feel sick. However, I suffer from many undesirable side effects of chemotherapy and all the other drugs that I am taking:

• Hot flashes
• Night sweats
• Chemo brain
• Electric shocks in my feet (peripheral neuropathy)
• Pain in my joints
• Weight gain
• Acute depression
• Spider veins on my face and feet
• Liver damage
• High blood pressure
• High cholesterol

Although a breast cancer diagnosis is not necessarily a death sentence, it is a debilitating and life-altering disease. 

Additional reading

Breast cancer and menopausal symptoms

Cognitive dysfunction (chemo brain) during and after treatment

What is peripheral neuropathy?