It was Spring of 2003,  I explained to my husband Joe that I felt “something” in my breast, tenderness, a dimple, I really couldn’t explain it.  It was April of 2003 and I was 42 years old.  I worked hard, played hard and was enjoying life to the fullest with my husband and three growing boys.  Suddenly all the things that were part of daily life came to a grinding halt.  The next few weeks were a whirlwind of doctors, tests, second opinions, and numerous surgeries.  Looking back, it was truly a living hell.  

I began my medical training under fire in 2003.  Second opinions were sought at Memorial Sloane Kettering and Yale’s Breast Center.  I went armed with all my test results and tissue samples from Danbury Hospital, the general surgeon and the recommendations of the Danbury’s Praxair Cancer Center’s oncologist.  I was diagnosed with Invasive Ductal Carcinoma and due to the size of the tumor a mastectomy would be required.  The chemo cocktail recommended was FAC, but all of that was to come later.  However, heading off to Sloane, I had already had a team of doctors discuss the beginning, middle and end of their recommended treatment, from surgery, through reconstruction, through chemotherapy. 

My mastectomy and reconstruction was performed in mid June 2003. July 2, 2003 marked my first day of chemo treatment.  The day was extremely emotional, personally invasive, and just hell.  But it was the aftermath that was even worse.  I was sicker than I could have ever thought humanly possible and still alive.  The anti nausea drugs were not effective.  I was convinced that I would not live through another chemo treatment.  It continued downhill for the rest of that cycle.  My body didn’t respond particularly well and I got an infection on my chest and my white blood count was at an unacceptable level to continue with chemo.  I wanted to stay on track.  The number of times that you have to go to the doctors is staggering.  Week in and week out I was at the Praxair Center for tests, shots of Nuelasta, chemo treatments and any other weird thing that happened.  Sitting at work one day my neck began to feel stiff and fat.  I raced off to the hospital.  The orange sized bulge, a result of a blood clot in my neck, scared even my doctor.  As I result, I added another shot to my daily routine.  I was forced to give myself daily shots in the stomach of Lovenax, a blood thinner.

We got through the treatments, and today the only drug I take daily is Femara.  Reading the drug’s uses on line would serve to scare the bejesus out of anyone, but Dr. Rella assures me it is still the drug of choice for me.  So that’s the brief history of my breast cancer treatment in 2003. 

Work hard, and play hard.  Dr. Rella is convinced that I handled my treatment as well as I did because I continued to work and wouldn’t spend my days wondering, “Why me?”  So yes, I worked every day that I could, although near the end I needed more days to recoup after chemo than earlier in the cycle.  And we planned a two week family vacation to follow after the chemo was expected to be completed. It was a fabulous time in Aruba, bald top and all.