cancer

Oh hi, nice to meet you. Welcome to Cancerville where everyone gets an ID bracelet and is invited to research studies. Oh and chemo. Free chemo.  I already know I am so very lucky to have one of the best facilities in the world at my disposal – it was apparent from the moment I checked in.

Various people called me the week before, booking me for things like screening, counseling, blood work, meetings, etc. I received fair warning that we’d be there for a while but despite knowing what was ahead, we were exhausted by the end of the day.

10am: Genetic Counseling. What the hell is that? Wait, rewind. I forgot.

3am: John wakes, comes into our room to tell us that he just “throwed up”, and its “wicked gross”. We clean up puke, make bed on floor of our room, settle him in with a trash can. Life goes on.

Okay, 10am (John was fine, too much candy from his aunt Juge, I think): Genetic Counseling. So I didn’t think I was of Jewish decent or had family history so I didn’t really know why I was going, but when MGH calls, you answer. So we went. Plus I figured I never did fill out that ancestry.com profile so maybe we’d document the family tree somehow.

Turns out they take this research thing really seriously at research hospitals, and that includes combing each patient for data and feeding it back to them. Gene research (via 2 tubes of blood taken moments later) will screen me for any of 8 breast cancer genes, which could end up being valuable information for my girls and my sisters’ girls. It also turns out that since I have cancer,  someone one step away (so my sister, mother or my daughter) could be 2x more likely to get it. Don’t quote these numbers. I was barely listening. I will confirm that and get back to you.

My counselor was named Margaret. I won’t forget that because my eldest daughter’s name is the same. She’s a genetic counselor. It’s a master’s degree. I tell you these things because I didn’t even know that was a job. Or a thing. She was wonderful. And sent me to the 9th floor: The Mass General Center Center.

Cue scary war music. Then we realize we have two hours until our appointment at 1pm so we take a lovely walk through Beacon Hill, visit my parents’ (and my) first Boston home at #99 Pinkney Street and have lunch at Harvard Gardens. I have wine. Obviously.

1pm: Interdisciplinary Meeting Commences. I figured it’d be in a conference room or something. But instead I was in a high-waisted, tie-front, calf-length johnny (that I could almost imagine wearing with a pair of really cute Tom’s), and my parents and hub were crammed into some plastic chairs and we were all in an exam room. It was cozy. Note to self: design dress line as comfy as those johnnies. How does one spell johnnies?

Dr. S – surgeon comes in. Explains all sorts of things. Dad wrote it down. I’ll share if you ask. We decide to just chop it all off. a) YOLO. Literally. and b) MGH really likes to KICK THE SHIT out of this disease. Then put lots of nails in the coffin. Then they bury it. And then they put a BOULDER ON TOP to just say F.U.

Silver lining: new rack. Most of my peers are looking into this anyway. Mine will be covered by insurance.

New news: I’ll be numb there, like forever. WTF again. No further comment.

Recommended treatment: Bi-lateral mastectomy with lymph node removal on left, lymph node testing on right side. Reconstruction during same operation. Taking feedback on construction dimensions.

2pm: Med Onc comes in. Oh, that’s my new dapper, handsome cancer doc. He tells me all about Chemo. And this fantastic new therapy that’s been developed (except it’s been used in Europe for TWO DECADES, thanks U.S. Health System) that gives your hair follicles frostbite but may preserve your hair. It is called cold-capping. More on that later.

I’ll look like a member of the U.S. National Water Polo team every other Wednesday but who the HELL CARES if I can leave and still look like I’m not the one-who-is-sick-with-bald-head?

Recommended treatment: 8 rounds of chemo, 4 of two different types. Lasting 16 weeks total.

Still on the bus – getting tired. Waiting for final doc. About radiation.

3:30pm: A lovely Egyptian physician comes in, asking how I’m doing. He’s wearing a Trinity tie so he and Mark talk NESCAC. While he is examining me I suggest he might know all of my Armenian friends in Boston because his last name actually ends in IAN and all of my Armenian friends have last names ending in IAN and they ALL KNOW EACH OTHER (trust me, you out there, I mentioned you). He says, “I know my name ends in IAN. It was a mistake when I left Egypt for my French Boarding school. The authorities spelled my Egyptian name wrong and it just stuck. The Armenians are very annoyed at me.”

Anyway, I tried. Emily, if a young research coordinator reaches out to you to job shadow, just do it. I said you would. I was getting people connections left and right the whole time I was there.

Recommended treatment: 6 weeks of daily (M-F) radiation treatment (photon or proton, I don’t know the difference but apparently it’s also being researched), starting about 4 weeks after chemo ends.

All in all, this should (insert pray emoji hands here) be done by early May.

PS – if ANYONE YOU KNOW wants a volunteer job in the medical industry, there seem to be volunteers just teeming about the place. Candy stripers, food deliverers, you name it. It’s really cool to see.