Yes I am an anecdote

Over the last week I have done a lot of talking and reading about mammograms and screening for breast cancer. Of course being told by a US government task force that routine annual mammograms are not recommended for women under 50 who do not have risk factors can make people like me a little hot under the collar. (Go to http://www.ahrq.gov/clinic/uspstf09/breastcancer/brcanrs.htm for the full report.) I had no risk factors and my breast cancer was detected first at my annual mammogram at age 41. So, since I have created this little soapbox called a blog, let me just climb up on it and give you my opinion:

The fight against breast cancer does not benefit from this confusing message. In fact, the only beneficiaries of this type of thing, ultimately, are the insurance companies, who’ll take this recommendation and use it as justification to deny coverage for screening. The screening we have now is imperfect, so we need improved technology, not to abandon the technology. Early detection results in better lives for survivors, regardless of the statistics on survival. Early detection through mammography is a vital tool in this fight and should be improved, not thrown out.

Surely the richest, most powerful nation on earth can figure this out. Everyone I’ve talked to knows someone who was diagnosed in her 30’s or 40’s with breast cancer, many with routine mammograms. Yes, mammograms lead to many unnecessary ultrasounds, biopsies, and MRI’s - all expensive. But, sometimes a mammogram leads to a cure: an early diagnosis allows for aggressive treatment followed by a long, healthy, and productive life.  The kind of outcome I can expect does not mean we should reduce screening for young women. On the contrary, we should improve it.  Surely as Americans, we won’t settle for less.

Wigging Out: I am...and I’m not

I haven’t posted in a couple of weeks, having taken a break between entries, but want to fill you in on happenings since the last treatment.

I recovered more quickly this time thanks to a change in several things: I did some serious protein and fiber loading ahead of time and also drank a good bit of acai juice, purported on the internet (where all the really reliable information is found, right?!) to have antioxidants capable of flushing your system clean of toxins including Cytoxan and Taxotere. Perhaps most importantly, I changed one of the anti-nausea medications from Compazine to Ativan. Yes, they are anti-anxiety drugs and yes, they also work for nausea by helping your brain tell your body to take a break. So, I was up and about much more quickly, enjoying the gorgeous colors and beautiful fall weather. Halloween was lots of fun with neighbors, and I fulfilled my lifelong dream of being a blonde, as you can see in the picture - I was a Go-Go girl one night and Cinderella the next. (And to all of my blonde friends, you do have more fun. Don’t try to tell us you don’t.)

Speaking of dressing up in wigs, this brings me to my main experience of the last two weeks: hair loss. Although I’d love to tell you I’m not bothered one iota by my chemo-induced hairless state, let’s be honest: not having hair is just not fun. There is a book about cancer called Any Day With Hair is a Good Day, and I totally get it. Hair loss is such an outward, visible expression of the disease and treatment and it’s practically impossible to hide. Now if you know Sheryl in Bellevue, you can just about hide it as well as anyone. She is an expert in her field and can produce a wig that totally matches your hair and its color, even if your color and texture has to be described as “formerly deep brown, now colored to cover the gray and, did I mention,straight as a board.” She is amazing. But wearing it gets old. It is itchy and hot and has a sort of “just out of the salon” puffy look to it.  I am getting used to it, as well as The Look I get when I go out wearing a scarf. I braved a grocery store outing last Saturday morning, children in tow, wearing a bandana and baseball cap, and in the car afterwards, one of my kids said, “Mom, the bag lady was staring at you.” Wow. I had noticed the sympathetic looks but turns out, my children did too. So, we are all adjusting to my new looks, both with scarf and with wig. 

Friday night, over dinner with some close friends, several of whom are doctors, discussing various crises and illnesses, one of them said, “You know, BK, there is more emotion around breast cancer than any other type of cancer. It’s really interesting.” Such an interesting comment. I have certainly seen and felt others’ emotions brought out by the disease - the sympathy, worry, and assurances of health and beauty that continue in spite of this cancer that has invaded my body in some mysterious way. Is this because, perhaps, we value health and beauty so much? “You look so good” has been a constant report from my friends. “So-and-so saw you at lunch/in the hook-up line/at the grocery and they just raved about how good you look!” All those adulations boost my confidence and help me feel good about just getting out there and not worrying about the hair and the rest of it so much. Maybe we all need some big change in our looks during our life to be reminded what makes us beautiful to others. And to remind us that we care way too much about how we look - our hair and figures and clothes and all that stuff. (I know certainly I do.) 

But even with all the confidence-boosting compliments, my hair loss is a big deal. And not just because of the physical change (which is huge), but because of the larger lesson for me: hair loss represents some kind of power struggle between cancer and me. And my takeaway? No matter how much cancer takes from me, it cannot win. Yes, it can make me cry and give me a few depressed days - maybe even some weeks in the future - but I will get through this and be here for a long, long time after the disease is gone. And maybe I’ll even be a blonde when my hair grows back. (Oh come on. A girl can dream, right?!)

So, Wednesday, 11/11, is round 3 and final round 4 is December 2nd. Thanks to you who are just unbelievably supportive of me, Richard, and the kids. We all feel the love.