So I finally did see the doctor. As usual, my procrastination and fear of bad news bit me in the ass, and I’m back here to say that more changes are ahead.
The fulvestrant hasn’t been working for the last few months. Initially, it was working very well, and then in September the bloodwork figures started creeping back up. The situation was not helped by my oncologist leaving last fall, nor by our vacation. The result was a one-month break from treatment and a lot of lost ground and some considerable fat off my body.
My appetite has been bad. My anniversary ring is threatening to slide off my finger and I no longer have pants that fit. Most women would be thrilled at this development, but all I can do is gaze at food and wish that I wanted to eat it. I have a coconut cream pie in the fridge right now and I’m hoping to eat it later, if I don’t fall asleep too early.
I’m not doing well emotionally, and I don’t like sharing that. I feel like I’m supposed to be a beacon of hope and good vibes to people who read this blog, but right now, I’m a little lost. Especially because I felt good and thought things were okay. I chalked my weight loss up to my activity at work without really noticing that I barely ate most days.
When I finally reached my doctor on the phone, he sounded shaken to the core. I can’t figure out if it’s because he’s young (he’s my age) or if the situation is really that bad. I remember the day I was diagnosed and the sound of my then-doctor’s voice. It was the same.
I’ll be getting a new chemo drug in pill form. My doctor says that the side effects are minimal and that it’s been effective. Sounds simple. Too good to be true?
February and March have been crappy months for me the last few years. The anniversary of Mom’s passing is coming up.
Grief never really ends.