Episode 5 - A Day in the Life with Metastatic Breast Cancer

Hello, hello! I’m Parker, and I am back to talk more about a day in the life with metastatic breast cancer. First, I’d like to note the passing this November of the remarkable, brave and funny Betty Rollin. Her book, First You Cry, published in 1976 was among the best of the first person cancer narratives. Her honesty, and humor helped so many women suffering from the early stages of this disease. She made it to 87 years young! Thanks for everything, Betty, and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Unlike Ms. Rollin, my breast cancer has metastasized (spread beyond the breast), and so my journey is a bit different. There is no surgery for me to remove the tumor, or the breast, as it would do no good. So, as well as taking daily oral meds to help stem the further spread of lesions in my body, I must regularly undergo a veritable raft of blood tests, IV infusions to strengthen my bones (the meds play merry hell with bone density) CT scans, full body scans, and, for me, a couple of MRI’s, just for fun.

After the diagnosis had been established, and a treatment plan put in place, I understood I would need to have these procedures regularly every 3 months. As I have been responding well to the meds, and my scans since 2021 have been stable, I now need them only every six months! Yay! So, let me tell you what these days look like.

Oh. I guess I should backtrack just a tad - the MRI’s are not usual. I had to have them added to the menu as I fainted at the bank last June. Yeah, that was humiliating. It was most likely caused by dehydration (remember last episode? GOTTA drink a great jolly shit load of water every day), but out of the well known abundance of caution, my oncologist insisted on making sure my poor old brain was not being adversely affected by the cancer, or the meds - hence the MRI - and boy are they fun! No, not so much.

Ok, seriously, none of the scans, or blood draws are painful - just uncomfortable, time consuming, and tedious. And, for me anyway, a cause of dread. I do ok in the months between scans, but the day of, I am always certain the results will be dire, and so have a quiet little anxiety attack. I am awfully lucky to have friends willing to indulge me during these days, and not make me feel like a crazy person. If they don’t exactly welcome my panicky phone calls or texts, they still take them. And for that, I am grateful. 

And speaking of grateful, these scheduled visits to the cancer center have exposed me to people - other patients in the lobby waiting for their treatment - who are living through devastating pain, weakness, and dependence upon caregivers. I see them, and feel fortunate I am not there. I hope, and pray I will not have to walk their path. But enough grim stuff! Here is what else happens during these procedure days.

Because I need to go regularly for these things, I tend to see the same physicians, nurses, and technicians. And, as hospitals are really just tiny villages, everyone knows everything, and gossip about how the place runs is the clinic lingua franca. I have, over the last couple of years even come to look forward to seeing them, these amazing people. Some of them are crazy smart, have varied interests, and are funny as hell. My CT scan tech is especially funny.

To make it less awful, I prepare for scan day, and bring along silly treats, and then indulge in them while I’m waiting the requisite time between having the nuclear medicine injected, and having the scan, itself. During this couple of hour break, I go down to the big lobby at the entrance to the center, or, if the day is nice, sit outside in the sun. The last time I was there, my treat was a small package of marshmallow Peeps. I know, I know, they are terrible - don’t judge me. Well, as I was sitting there, staring out the clinic window, and munching on my bright pink confection, my Ukrainian cat scan tech came down for her break. She saw me, came over, sat down and began to stare at my Peeps. Finally, she asked (with great suspicion) “Parker, wut is Peeps?” With some chagrin, I told her they were a guilty pleasure - very sweet marshmallow candy. She put her hand out in an “ok, give me one” gesture, and I complied. She popped it in her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and with no expression on her face at all murmured, “Disgustink. You have more?” I love her so much!

And so, this week I go in for my delightful barium cocktail, have an IV line installed, lie in a metal tube and listen to the strangest clunks, and clanks you can imagine from the MRI machine, then migrate to another room for the CT scan, and yet another room for the full body scan. After that, I meander to another part of the facility altogether for a blood draw, meet with my amazing, kind, funny, and brilliant oncologist, and then finish up with the IV infusion.

The results usually come in fast - my oncologist generally has them before the end of that day, so my fears are quelled before I call it a night. Until the next time. 

So! That’s what treatment day looks like for me. And so it goes, and with luck, all goes well.

Oh, yeah, that’s my cat, Kasso on my lap - silly guy.

See you next time, and happy holidays!