Friday, October 30, 2020

10/30/20: Lupron

Got my monthly shot. Nothing too exciting there.

The steri-strips over my port removal incision still haven't come off. It's been almost a month. The discharge papers say the strips will fall off on their own, but don't say how long it should take. Google tells me they usually fall off in about 2 weeks, but my nurse today said it's okay if they take 4-6 weeks. She suggested I could help them along a little by gently washing the area with a washcloth in the shower. I'll do that; so far I've just been letting soapy water run over them.

I also decided to show the nurse the tick bite I got last Saturday. I walk in the area behind my house, and there's a short path through some light woods. I was wearing long sleeves and long pants (though the top wasn't tucked in), and I certainly didn't rub up against any branches or leaves. So this means a tick somehow fell on me, and crawled on my clothes and body until it found a spot on my waist to bite. Ugh! Gross. I'm not even sure if the tick bit me on Friday or Saturday, but I found it on Saturday. Ken pulled it out with tweezers. There was a tiny hole where the tick was, a small dark purple dot around the hole, and then a larger red patch around that. I've taken pictures of it almost every day since, and it looks like it's getting better, but I figured I'd show the nurse just in case. I showed her the photos and she agreed it looks like it's improving. She said to watch out for fever, chills, warmth in the area, and a growing rash. If I get any symptoms, I should contact my PCP.

Tuesday, October 27, 2020

How to Help a Friend with Breast Cancer

I am sincerely grateful for the support and encouragement of my friends and family. Many of the suggestions below were generous acts of kindness that I received but never expected. Thanks to their example, I hope I can pass along some ideas that might make someone else's cancer journey just a little less lonely. (I first drafted this post in pre-COVID times, so I hope it goes without saying that all COVID-related precautions should be taken when necessary.)

When you get diagnosed with breast cancer, a lot of people say, "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help." Most people will mean it. But still, a lot of people's support tends to end with that offer, because they really don't know what they can do to help. And unless they are in the patient's inner circle and/or live very close by, they are unlikely to be called upon with specific requests for help. Here are some ideas to bridge the gap.

Really Try to Understand Them
Even the most well-meaning people can think they "get it", when they might not really. I thought this essay, written by an oncology nurse who was diagnosed with cancer herself, captured the sentiment well:


Talk to Them, and Let Them Know They Can Talk to You
Most people are well-meaning, but not all words are helpful. While saying something is arguably better than saying nothing, some words just really aren't helpful. There are lots of articles written about this already, so before you reach out, take a few minutes and Google "what not to say to someone with cancer".

Then again, seeing all the things you shouldn't say can be intimidating, and that might make you feel even more at a loss of what to say. So, what should you say to someone with cancer? Personally, I appreciated it when people did the following:
  1. Acknowledge the cancer / diagnosis / treatment.
  2. Show love, e.g., with words of caring, a hug, extra emojis in a text, or a little something in the mail. (See below for ideas.)
  3. Let the person with cancer lead the conversation.
You could say something as simple as, "I am so sorry about your diagnosis / surgery / chemo / radiation. Do you want to talk about it?" The person then knows the door is open if they want to tell you how they are really doing, and if not, they can easily say no and re-direct the conversation to something else.  

Maybe reading all this makes interacting with someone with cancer seem even more daunting and fraught with possible mistakes. The truth is, there is no "right way" to talk to someone with cancer because everyone is different. In Facebook support groups, I've seen both the following complaints, and everything in between:

"My friends don't understand me. They keep asking about my cancer. I don't like to think about it, I just want to live life normally! I wish they would just treat me like nothing is wrong."

"My friends don't understand me. They treat me like nothing is wrong. Everything is different now, every day is a challenge! I wish they would ask me about what I'm going through and how I'm doing."

If you don't know what kind of person your friend is, just ask them. 

Be optimistic, but also acknowledge the gravitas of the diagnosis.
Regarding what to say, or not say, I hope I can describe one particular concern without seeming ungrateful or judgmental. In my experience, some people, out of an abundance of good intentions, actually respond with a little too much positivity. They're sympathetic, but characterize cancer as a mere bump in the road of life. If they personally know more than one breast cancer survivor, they may inadvertantly give the impression that having cancer is No Big Deal. They might even come across as unintentionally dismissive, referring to cancer treatment as "just a phase". While every ounce of positivity is welcome and appreciated and even necessary for survival, the bottom line is that cancer - in any form, in any stage, regardless of what type of treatment is needed - is deadly. Having cancer is a Big Fucking Deal. It is immensely helpful and essential to be optimistic, but please also acknowledge the fear and anxiety that comes with any diagnosis. It's scary, it's altogether life-changing, and the uncertainty of prognosis, especially in the early days of diagnosis and treatment, should not be downplayed.

Give Them Practical Gifts
Breast cancer treatment usually involves some kind of surgery to remove a tumor. In my experience having a double mastectomy, the hospital will provided everything that is needed, but there are plenty of nice-to-have items that can make recovery a lot more comfortable. Consider giving your friend items for their hospital stay or for their post-surgery recovery.

Even though I knew about some of the recommended items, I was hesitant to purchase things that would only be used for a brief period of time. And that's exactly why some of those items make perfect gifts - they are things a patient could use and appreciate, but might not buy for themselves. 

Give them self-care items.
I had a handful of thoughtful friends who brought me nice-to-have, pick-me-up items that I never would have gotten for myself, but which certainly went a long way in cheering me up. Things like motivational socks, coloring books, a super soft blanket, stuffed animals, scented candles, chocolates, balloons, magazines, tea, etc. Sometimes the best gifts can be the ones that aren't necessarily useful, but bring a lot of comfort, and just lets your friend know you are thinking of them. 

Spend time with them throughout their active treatment.
During surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy, some people tend to stay away, not knowing what to do or what to say. Try to resist that feeling, and maintain your usual level of contact. If you live close by, one of the best things I received was simply my friends' time. Whether or not we talked about my cancer, it was just good to go out and be distracted from my own worries and anxieties. 

Don't wait for your friend to reach out to you. Take the initiative and ask if your friend would like to go out for a walk, see a movie, or out to eat. If they aren't up for going out, offer to visit them in their home. If they need to have surgery, consider scheduling some time to visit them during their recovery. If they're getting chemo, volunteer to drive them and keep them company during treatment. 

All that said, don't be pushy. Sometimes, I just didn't feel up for being social. Some days, or even whole weeks, I just wanted to hibernate and be alone. It can be a delicate balance of giving your friend space, but also letting them know you are available to hang out whenever they are ready. 

Send supportive texts / emails / phone calls / old-fashioned cards in the mail.
For me, it was really meaningful simply knowing that my family and friends were thinking of me. It truly was uplifting to know that people were praying for me, wishing me well, and just holding me in their positive thoughts. Of course, the only way for me to know that I was being thought of was for people to tell me so!

It helps to consider your friend's personal preferences. As an introvert, I sometimes shied away from phone calls, and I didn't always feel up to texting. Emails were nice, because I could reply on my own time. I particularly appreciated receiving cards in the mail. Unlike other outreach methods, I could just bask in the thoughtfulness of the sender, knowing they were thinking of me, without having to worry about responding. I lined up the cards I received on my dresser, and they were a daily source of encouragement for me; the support they provided lasted long after the day of receipt.


Offer food during post-surgery recovery and chemotherapy / radiation therapy.
So many people equate food with recovery. If you live close by, and you like to cook, definitely offer it up. Ideally, make sure your meals freeze well, so your friend can use them according to their own schedule of needs. Also, ask your friend if they would prefer you to bring over food at a particular time; if everyone gives food right before and after surgery, your friend may actually run out of fridge and freezer space! A meal delivered a week later may be more convenient. During chemo, it might be most helpful to offer to prepare meals for the day of treatment, or on whatever day of the cycle your friend feels the most tired. If there is a large circle of local friends who are looking for ways to help, ask your friend if they would like for you to set up a meal train for them.

If your friend repeatedly declines offers of food (beyond the well-meaning, "Oh, you don't have to do that!"), please respect their wishes. Maybe they really do already have enough food.

In my case, it wasn't a no-brainer to accept all offers of food because my kids have life-threatening food allergies. If you don't live with a food allergy, you may not realize that instead of bringing comfort, food prepared outside the home can actually be a source of stress. Instead of just being able to graciously accept everyone's homecooking, I had to think about whether or not the person offering us food fully understands how to prepare allergen-free food, including being aware of cross-contamination risks. If you are going to offer food, please reassure your friend that you will respect all dietary restrictions, and take any additional steps to set their mind at ease. A couple of my most thoughtful friends even snapped photos of ingredient labels on all packaged products, and then emailed them to me, so I could rest easy knowing their lovely meals were safe for the whole family.

If you're not one to cook, or if your friend isn't comfortable with offers of homemade food because of dietary restrictions, ask them if they have a favorite restaurant that meets their needs, and give them a gift card. Ordering take-out is just as helpful as having prepared foods at home. And after being cooped up recovering from surgery, or being too tired from chemotherapy or radiation therapy to cook, going out to eat is a nice, low-key way for the whole family to have a sense of normalcy.

Another option is to have something delivered. For those with food restrictions, fruit baskets can be a great option. I did receive a few goodies that weren't safe for my kids' allergies, but I still enjoyed them myself, and they were perfect for setting out for visitors who came to see me.

Send flowers.
Not long ago, I came across this article about how flowers can actually have measurable positive therapeutic effects on people recovering from surgery, including lower ratings of pain and anxiety. All I know is that I was instantly heartened at the sight of fresh flowers; they were a sure-fire pick-me-up, and were a welcome bit of cheer.


Provide household assistance.
If you live close by, offer very specific assistance. General offers like, "Let me know how I can help," are well-meaning, but seldom called upon. It also puts the burden on the patient to reach out to you. Instead, say something like, "I would like to take you to one of your chemotherapy / radiation treatments. What does your treatment schedule look like?" Or, "I can drive your kids to/from school any day, just text me when they need a ride." Or, "I have time to rake your leaves this weekend. When is a good time for me to come over?"

I'm a very private person, so I did not reach out for nor accept much help around the house. But I know for sure that many people would love it if someone could do their grocery shopping or weed their garden. Of course, if they politely decline, respect their privacy, and don't take it personally.

Support family members and others who are affected.
Of course the person who was diagnosed needs your attention, but your friend's closest family members might also need some help. Is there a spouse, children, or parents who could use some support? It can be very difficult to watch and feel helpless while a loved one undergoes cancer treatment. If you are close with your friend's family, touch base with them and check in. Send them an encouraging note, or offer to take them out. 

Provide support from diagnosis to surgery, throughout chemotherapy and/or radiation, and afterwards. 
When a person reaches out to share their diagnosis, that's when most people respond with supportive messages. But try not to let your support end there. If you know your friend's surgery date, send a gift or a card, and check in with them. Surgery is scary, and it helps to know that people are thinking of you and wishing you well. Even if they aren't up for visitors, or even talking on the phone or texting, just let them know you are cheering for them.

Besides surgery, some breast cancer patients may need radiation or chemotherapy. Whatever the regimen, active treatment is hard. Even if someone looks good, and is lucky enough to experience minimal side effects, the disruption to their normal routines, the emotional burden of simply living with cancer, can weigh heavily on them. If hormone therapy is involved, treatment may drag on for many years. Chances are, your friend needs just as much support throughout radiation and/or chemotherapy as they did getting through surgery, or when announcing their diagnosis.

Even for the most well-meaning of friends, attention tends to fade away over the long course of radiation and/or chemotherapy, which can last weeks or months. It's understandable that life goes on for everyone. A lot of cancer patients actually feel the most in need of support once active treatment ends. After spending the majority of their time and energy focused on fighting cancer, for however long, suddenly not having that focus can be disorienting. This meme that I saw posted in a Facebook support group sums it up.


Many cancer patients will always live with a fear of recurrence. While active treatment takes its toll on the patient's physical health, the long-term burden of cancer can have a significant emotional and psychological components as well. There isn't always a sense of "returning to normalcy" or "putting it all behind you." Many patients need to find a "new normal", one that may include persistent side effects from treatment, or surgery scars that are a daily reminder in the mirror. 

There are some people who just want to move on from cancer, they put it behind them and forget about it. And there are others who live with it daily, and might appreciate talking about it every now and then. There is no one-size solution. If you think your friend might be feeling the lingering burden of cancer, check in with them, and let them know you are still thinking of them.

Sunday, October 4, 2020

10/4/20: I Took the Dressing Off My Port Incision

The port removal team was so careful not to use chlorhexidine, but it looks like I got a rash after all, this time from the Tegaderm dressing.

It's pretty itchy, I keep rubbing it gently through my shirt, trying not to scratch it.

Friday, October 2, 2020

10/2/20: Lupron

I woke up with the port area feeling sore and achy, but not enough to take another Tylenol. 

I got my Lupron shot, and also asked if I could get a flu shot today. I had to wait around a while for the order to go through, but I got it.  

From now on, I only need to go to the Cancer Center every 4 weeks for the Lupron. My next medical oncologist visit is in 3 months, too. Still, my calendar isn't totally empty; in the meantime, I have an echocardiogram, a follow-up with the cardio-oncologist, and an appointment with my OB/GYN. 

Thursday, October 1, 2020

10/1/20: Port Removal

The port is out! 

It's covered with dressing that I can't take off for 2 days, and I'm told there are steri-strips under that, so it will be a while before I can tell what the scar will look like.

Ken drove me into the city for this appointment, and the first thing we noticed is that the mask compliance rate of people walking around in the city is WAY higher than in our suburban hometown.

Ken walked me into the hospital but then waited outside for the duration of my appointment.

The area I was brought to in the interventional radiology department was a big open space with a nurse's station in the middle and bays of hospital beds along the perimeter, separated by curtains. A nurse took me to a bed and had me change into a gown. She took my vitals and then gave me an IV. It took her two tries! The first time she stuck the needle in, poked it around, said it's not working, and then pulled it out. She then tried again in a different place, and it worked, though there was some bleeding. I've had several IVs by now, and that's never happened before, but I just shrugged it off.

A physician's assistant came to speak with me, and it was the same one I saw in January. He was easy-going and more of a jokester this time, which actually came across as less personable to me, like he was using the humor as a kind of shield. I told him about both of my concerns - the leftover non-dissolveable stitch and the messiness of the ugly scar. I felt like he was dismissive about both things. Of course he said, "If there's something in there we'll take it out," and, "We'll do our best to make it look nice," but they just felt like "the right thing to say," I didn't get a sense that he really cared.  

I was rolled into the operating room, where 4 nurses busied themselves getting me ready. They were all very nice. I was pleased that multiple people along the way took note of my chlorhexidine allergy, and one of the nurses said right away that they would use Betadine instead. 

The doctor came in after I was already prepped, and he didn't introduce himself to me at all. I was reminded that I actually liked the doctor who performed my port placement; he was friendly and he explained what he was doing while he was doing it. This doctor didn't say anything at all; I hope that means he was concentrating on the procedure.

I was given some kind of sedative for the procedure, so my mind was foggy, but I think I did try to mention the leftover stitch. I have a vague notion that I said something just as the doctor was getting started, so that I could be sure he was aware of the stitch, but I can't remember the details. I think I dozed off during the procedure. As he was finishing up, I asked him if he found anything, and he said no. Maybe it wasn't a stitch after all? Maybe it was, and it's still in me? It occurs to me that maybe he would say no even if he did find something, like maybe they shouldn't admit that they left a stitch in me for almost a year.  

The procedure went fine in that the port was removed and nothing went wrong, but I didn't leave feeling like my concerns were addressed. I think I would have gotten a more satisfying experience at my local satellite hospital, but I still think if I end up having any kind of healing problems later, if the port was removed by the same doctor as before, I'd blame him. So, I don't regret going to the main hospital for this procedure; this way, if I have problems later, I won't feel like it's anyone's fault, it's just what happened.

Anyway, I was given some ginger ale and graham crackers while waiting for some of the sedative to wear off. After maybe 15-20 minutes, they had me call Ken, and someone walked me to the main entrance to meet him. The whole visit was less than 3 hours.

Every person I encountered during my appointment, when they found out I was there to get my port removed, gave me a hearty, "Congratulations!" But somehow, instead of wanting to cheer, I felt like crying. I don't know if it's a sense of relief that a big part of my treatment is over, or what, but I do feel kind of discombobulated. In a weird way, I sort of feel the same as I did when I got the port placed. Like something has changed, and something else is about to start, and I don't know what it's going to be like. 

The area where my port was is sore and stings a little. Maybe I will take a Tylenol before bed tonight.