Jean's Story

I was diagnosed with breast cancer in October, 2007, at age 57, invasive ductal carcinoma, Stage IIA, non-hormone receptive. As it was explained to me, having the HER2 marker meant I had a more aggressive tumor, but one that might respond to a relatively new drug called Herceptin. Since the tumor was 2 to 3 cms, my oncologist recommended chemotherapy first, in hopes of shrinking the mass prior to surgery. After getting a port, I started 16 rounds of chemo right before Thanksgiving, going every Friday for Taxol, Carboplatin and Herceptin.

My first day at chemo was a blur. My doctor and nurses at the Harold Leever Regional Cancer Center were wonderful and I knew I was getting state of the art treatment, but I let my fears get the better of me. At the end of the day I went home, expecting to be sick as a dog. No one was more surprised than me when that didn’t happen. I was drowsy that evening, but not uncomfortable; the next day, I felt totally fine.

As the weeks progressed, it wasn’t long before I realized that I actually enjoyed going to chemo. My weekly routine was to sit in a lounge chair in a sunny window, sip tea, listen to music, read a book, doze off for awhile, read some more, doze some more. The Benadryl I got to ward off an allergic reaction had the effect of an all-day martini. I began referring to the weekly treatments as my “chemo cruise.”

I began losing my hair about three weeks into treatment. That was pretty traumatic at first, but I asked my son to shave it all off, and I felt much better after that. I received three wigs from friends, but preferred to wear scarves and hats. It was fun matching my “headgear” to my outfits for work. Luckily, this was wintertime and the hats were a welcome addition to my wardrobe.

I never once felt sick from the chemo, not even a little. The only side effect I got was the proverbial “change in bowel habits,” which I was able to control pretty easily. I was able to work full days Monday through Thursday and continue with just about every activity except fussing with my hair.

My surgeon scheduled a lumpectomy in May. Again, I was nervous going in, but the surgery was so easy and the recovery so quick, I joked that my husband could have dropped me off at work on the way home from the hospital. As it turned out, the chemo completely eradicated the tumor so the surgery was quite minor. I was left with a small scar and acceptably, if not totally, symmetrical breasts.

A few weeks after surgery, I began radiation, 25 treatments of full-breast followed by eight zaps targeted at the tumor site. Again, I was pleasantly surprised to find the treatment quick, easy and painless. There’s a little redness, but no tenderness. I was told to expect some fatigue, but I only have two treatments left and have yet to feel tired. We scheduled my treatments for 6 p.m. so I was able to work a full work week. If I had to describe radiation to someone, I’d say it’s like stopping for a quick visit with two friends every day after work – and for about 30 seconds of that visit your breast is exposed.

Though the major part of my cancer treatment will soon be behind me, I continue to report to the Harold Leever Center every third Friday for an infusion of Herceptin. I’ll be doing that until mid-November. In October, I’ll see my surgeon to talk about reconstruction, but at this point, I don’t think it will be necessary. At this point, one breast slightly off-kilter doesn’t seem like a big problem.

When I think back on the past 10 months, the biggest challenge was dealing with my insurance company, and coming to grips with the fact that even with insurance, my portion of the cost is more than I will ever be able to pay. But what I remember most is the incredible support I received from friends, family, even strangers. Not a day went by without cards in the mail, good wishes in my email box, hugs at work, at church -- wherever I went. Through my illness, I was able to see the very best in other people, who surrounded me with love and generosity.

Shortly after my diagnosis, two friends confided in me that they had been treated for breast cancer, and kept it a secret. While I affirm the right of every woman to deal with it in the way she chooses, I can’t imagine the effort it would take to conceal something like this. I think their motivation was to “carry on” as if nothing had happened, but at what price? My advice to someone newly diagnosed would be to trust in the goodness of people, and let them share your burden. The love and support I received from so very many people was a life changing, life affirming experience that I wouldn’t give up for anything.