But at least it's smaller according to last week's tumor marker reading. I've read that tumor markers may not always be a reliable measure of active cancer in a body. But in my case my tumor markers appear to be reliably tracking with the shrinking of the cancer in my body.
Today's number? 37.8 (normal range is 0.0 - 38.6).
When I saw the number dropped in front of me I hooted. Hooted.
This has been a long process of chemo that I had hoped would be over on April 20. But after scans, I was told the cancer was not entirely off the liver so I would need 7 more weeks of Taxol and Herceptin. Even with the good news of the scans, showing a marked decrease in tumor size in the breast and on the liver, I became depressed. Really depressed.
Added to this the news from my oncologist that a spot on my femur had lit up in this last bone scan, I became even more depressed. The doctor intimated that the breast cancer might have already been in the bone but it hadn't been spotted. And the fact that it lit up this time might be due to the area healing from the chemo. Either way, she told me not to worry. Nancy, my Imerman Angel in New Jersey, also told me not to worry since bone metastasis tends not to kill people (Nancy is a 10 year survivor of breast cancer metastasized to the bone). She is my angel.
But still, I was down, baby, down, down, down. Comma, comma, down, dooby, down, down, down.
I finally reached out to others living with long-term cancer and guess what? It's apparently normal to be depressed after going through this much chemo. Just knowing that helped me. And several emailers mentioned that I could ask my doctor about taking a break from chemo just so I could have a month of having some strength. And finally, my friend Lisa came over Wednesday night just to sit with me and listen to me cry and express my frustration. That helped immensely. Thank you, Lisa.
It's all about reaching out and willingness to take help, skills I am not always good at. When it gets bad, I tend to isolate, laying on the couch, watching depressing documentaries. Shall we call this suicidal depression soup? It is one of my specialties. A day or two of moping okay. But when it extends to a week or more, time to make those calls. Glad I finally did.
And now here I am looking at my tumor marker number of 37.8, an over 90% decrease from the starting number in the 500's. That kind of news perks me up and will help me get through the upcoming exhaustion, neuropathy of hands and feet, and other side effects.
Now I'm even looking forward to my next scan. This tumor reading was taken after the first of 7 added chemos. Imagine what will happen once we get through this next round. I deserve a steak with butter and sauteed mushrooms. I deserve french fries (I love french fries). I deserve a cash prize -- cash stuffed envelopes welcome in my mailbox.
It's just nice to get some straight up good news, no bad news chaser. One thing is doing well. Very, very well.
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