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Over the last many weeks, many of you know that I have been going through chemotherapy. (You can read one of my posts here.) When I learned that chemotherapy was recommended after having a single mastectomy, I was stunned; we’d detected the tumors early, they’d removed the breast, and the cancer had not infiltrated my lymph nodes. But according to one of the latest, most sophisticated tests (oncotype), I was at high risk of recurrence of breast cancer at my age. The oncologist explained that the “ideal” number of rounds of chemo would be six (every three weeks), but four would be “acceptable.”
At this point, I have completed three rounds. I know that there are many women who find the treatment very debilitating, and although I was miserable and unwell, it could have been worse. But my husband and I began to rethink the decision to go more than four rounds. What was the source of our hesitation?
No one could tell me with certainty how difficult chemotherapy would be; every person responds differently. But I can tell you that I have a new respect for the men and women who tolerate the regimen with patience and determination. Trust me, that’s not me. Preview Open
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In one sense, I’m tired of writing about my upcoming chemotherapy. If you’re tired of reading about my perceptions preceding it, sign off now. But I can’t help noticing that lovely things keep showing up. Unexpected. Loving. Delightful. Maybe these are all just flukes. Or maybe not.
I started to notice odd things starting yesterday. I had to get my teeth cleaned. (It turns out that once you begin chemo, you’re not supposed to get dental work until it’s over.) I start chemo on April 6; I had my next cleaning scheduled on April 7. So, we re-scheduled.