Molasses

The Herceptin treatment is sticking with me longer than I'd expected. I spend part of each day moving through molasses. On days I can take naps & don't have to work, this is not so bad. Today it became frustrating. Will it stay this way? What happens when I add in Tamoxifen, which is also supposed to create fatigue?

What an interesting way God offers me to slow down.

On Monday, James & I celebrated part 3 of his birthday, bringing the set of Boules balls he asked for to a court along Lake Union. We played this simple French peasant lawn game as neighbors ambled the street, gulls flew overhead, waves lapped the shore nearby, the sun moved toward its bed and the moon rose next to St. Mark's Cathedral. Damn. What a good life.

Today I was fitted for my prosthetic breast in Nordstrom's while their famed pianist played live, piped into the dressing rooms: "Every move you make I'll be watching you." OK. That was truly weird.

First Treatment

Friday was my first treatment with Herceptin, a spiffy designer oncogene, custom tailored to match the HER2-neu proteins that stick out of my cancer cells. Herceptin latches onto the proteins & calls in the bouncers -- the immune system.

The hospital was running unusually late, so I didn't start my treatment until nearly 4 hours after it was scheduled. But they treat you very well: sandwiches, fruit, juices and A CUSTARD CUP. It took about 2 hours for the liquid bag of meds to drip into my system. As predicted, I felt quite flu-y after. It was weird to feel cold in the midst of Seattle's heat wave. Luckily I'd cleared my day, so went home and curled up in a shawl with a guilty-pleasure: a Hugh Grant dvd my sister sent in a box of other entertainments. The next day I needed to take a 3 hour nap, but otherwise felt fine. Future treatments are supposed to be easier. Boy, am I getting off the hook.

My little bag of clear fluid apparently costs $2000. Discovering this during my cost-estimation research had me wondering: Is this really worthwhile for the 3-5% reduced rate of recurrence I'm getting from it? More research, prayer, and reality checking: this is just what treatments cost. Accept it: my health is worth the cost of a new hybrid car or 6 months in Italy. I tell all this to Kevin, the droll nurse who sticks me. He reports that $2000 is cheap. There is a med for pregnant women with a particular blood disorder that costs $45,000/bag.

I'm getting off easy. I am surrounded by blessings. I am grateful to my toes that God & some clever people invented insurance.