9. Six months to say goodbye to my tit

5th of May 2020

9:45 am. I get out of our van in the hospital parking lot right at the time we have the appointment with the oncologist. Too slow, Samirah puts on her mask and gloves, I nudge her, as we need hurry. To be fair, it’s not her fault that we’re late, it’s more my fault. I took all the time in the world this morning to eat breakfast, shower, get dressed, etc.

We pick up the pace, I leave Samirah slightly behind. When we arrive, my aunt is already there, waiting for us. Soon after, a very nice assistant comes out to ask me a few questions. How much I weigh, what is my height, do I have allergies, etc. She tells me that she’s going to prepare everything and that they’ll call me.

At home, Samirah had told me that she wanted to know everything the oncologist said. Unfortunately, only one companion is allowed to join me in the doctor’s office, and we both agreed that it was probably better for my aunt to accompany me, since Samirah’s Spanish still doesn’t allow her to understand everything perfectly. We had also decided, because of past experiences, and because we had read that it is advisable not to forget the details, to record the session. I consult with my aunt. We find it a bit strange and uncomfortable to ask. My aunt tells me,

-Well, just record and don’t ask, they won’t find out!

And I go along with it, even though I know I shouldn’t. But I don’t want to miss any detail and I don’t want to go through the awkwardness of asking.

Finally, my aunt and I enter to the doctor’s office, where there are two desks and a stretcher. At one desk is the assistant and at the other is the oncologist. Two chairs in front of the oncologist’s table are offered to us. The chairs are glued to the wall and between the doctor’s desk and our chairs there is enough space so that it is not likely to infect each other with the Covid virus.

The doctor wears a hat and a mask. Kind eyes look at me from behind the glasses. She is a young girl, close to my age, maybe younger. I ask her about the prognosis of my illness. She tells me that it is good, that today there are specific treatments for my ailment and that, of course complications can arise, but that she believes it will be fine. Of course, the road ahead is long as hell. Even if I was expecting a ride, with the doctor’s explanations I realize that it will be more of a transatlantic trip.

She explains the whole treatment to me the first time, but she tells me to focus on the first part. I believe that she is right and that I must fight each of the battles one by one but, at the same time, I want to know what awaits me.

First, three months of chemotherapy. The drugs they are going to give me are Doxorubicin and Cyclophosphamide. Then they’ll give me another three months of chemo plus antibodies. They will give me taxanes and Trastuzumab and / or Pertuzumab. These last two drugs are what they are using because my tumors are HER2 positive.

After these first six months they aren’t promising anything good, it will be time to say goodbye to my right tit. The doctor has told me that since my cancer is in various places. In almost all probability, they will not risk leaving the breast and with that, the possibility of the cancer returning in the future.

The journey does not end there. We will have another nine months of antibodies (Trastuzumab and / or Pertuzumab), but in this phase they will be administered as an injection. Once that part is finished, at 15 months, we will move on to hormonal therapy, which will be a Tamoxifen pill, which is a specific treatment I am given because my tumors are positive for estrogens and progesterone. I will have to take those for five years. As you can see, the road will not be short.

It is difficult to digest. A lot of information and it is difficult to think ahead, about everything that is coming.

The doctor tells me about the side effects. My hair is going to fall out for sure, and I am going to be very susceptible to infections. I have taken some prepared questions with me. I have them in a mobile application.

I open the application. The doctor may be wearing glasses, but her sight is enough to detect on my phone that I am recording her. The poor thing gets mad. That it’s disrespectful, that I should know better, that I should have asked her …

With her anger I feel tiny. I know that I was wrong and I can only try to explain my motivations. She lets off steam a bit, but without raising her voice excessively or being rude. Quite the contrary and perhaps that contributes to me feeling even worse. She asks me to delete the recording. I delete it, but I explain to her that when she leaves her office, I will remember only ten minutes of our forty-five conversation. So, she makes me an outline and summary on a consent information paper so that I can better understand how the treatment will go.

The meeting continues, basically repeating to me things that she had already told me but that I have already forgotten or that I have not understood. At last I get up to leave and she tells me to wait, that she has to examine me. She touches me with gentle hands. After my five hundred apology, she’s back to being a little more relaxed. I appreciate it, but I still feel terrible. My own fault, of course.

In the end, tomorrow we begin this transatlantic journey of 15 months plus five years. We go home, tomorrow more.

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