Happy Thanksgiving, internet world! Now that Facebook notifies you about what happened "On This Day" however many years ago, it reminded me that Monday was my 4-year anniversary of being declared in remission. Whoa, four years. I remember that Thanksgiving so clearly. I had just started my fifth round of chemo and was attached to my pump at the dinner table. I wasn't nauseous, but only because I was on such a heavy dose of Vistaril, so I couldn't keep my eyes open.
I went into Sloan Kettering today for a checkup and an echocardiogram. It's strange...I used to love going back there because I liked seeing all the nurses and receptionists and basically everyone I saw every day for an entire year. But now that I'm SO far off treatment, they barely even recognize me anymore, and it's kind of disappointing. Don't get me wrong, I know it's a good thing that I'm in the hospital so infrequently that no one recognizes me, and I'm extremely grateful for my health, but it's still weird to have what used to be such a huge part of my life slowly disappear.
Anyways, I got my finger stick and met with Dr. Steinherz and the nurse practitioner, and it ended up being a much longer appointment than I anticipated. My blood counts are all good, and Dr. Steinherz said that now that I'm 3 1/2 years off treatment, the chances of relapsing are less than 1%, which is fabulous news. One battle with cancer was like, five too many.
Of course, I can't just go into the clinic and have them tell me I look great and go home. The nurse practitioner brought up being transitioned into the long-term followup clinic, which is more focused on dealing with long-term side effects of the treatment rather than checking for cancer. The big thing for me is cardiotoxicity, which wasn't news to me, seeing as how I was there for an echocardiogram. Anthracycline-based chemotherapy puts me at risk for cardiomyopathy and arrhythmias. Knowing this, I'll get a little anxious every now and then and feel like I'm having a heart attack, but my understanding of this is that any effects wouldn't be seen until years and years after treatment. So I got my echo done, and it was uncomfortable to be smeared in cold jelly in a heavily air conditioned room, and I'm sure they'll call me if they think my heart is failing.
I also mentioned my memory problems to the NP, and when she said that it's typically seen more in patients who received radiation, I reminded her that they injected chemo into my spinal fluid. She agreed that it's probably had some effect. I told her it affected how I did in school, and even in my day-to-day life, I forget important things like my Social Security number or the PIN for my debit card, and if my roommates are lucky enough, I'll even forget to turn the oven off (sorry guys, I'm trying my best). So I'm going to be seeing someone in the long-term clinic for that as well.
What was a little more surprising to hear was that I could have potential issues with fertility. I made a joke to one of my friends recently that for all I know, I'm infertile, but apparently there's more truth to that than I thought. One of the drugs I received during induction chemo could've caused damage to my ovaries, and it puts me at risk to stop producing viable eggs much earlier than a woman who didn't undergo chemo. The nurse practitioner is setting up an appointment for me with the fertility clinic, and she said I should consider freezing my eggs just in case any damage did occur, sooner rather than later. Even on the Children's Oncology Group website, it says in bold and italics, "If a woman at risk for premature menopause desires to have children, it is best not to delay childbearing beyond the early thirties, because the period of fertility may be shortened after having cancer therapy."
This was a lot to take in all at once, and I started to get filled up in the office. The NP asked if I was okay, and I yelled, "YES, I'm medicated now, don't worry, keep talking!" and she burst out laughing in the typical "ahhh it's not really funny but it's so funny" way that all of the providers on that floor have done with me since day 1. It's not necessarily worrying about any of these individual problems that upset me, it's mostly the general frustration of how I always want to believe that I'm done with cancer and have moved on, but it keeps finding its way back into my life to make it juuuuuust a little more complicated.
Recently, someone said to me, "Allison, don't you want to be young, wild, and free?" and I responded, "Those are words that have never been used to describe me." Even though I'm at an age where I shouldn't be worried about much and should just be enjoying life, I've been put into this constant, subconscious state of thinking, "I don't have much time." After being diagnosed, it was pointed out to me by my psychologist that I have a hard time being stagnant, whether it be in life, in a relationship, anything, because I at one point believed that I wasn't going to be alive for very long and had no time to waste. This whole fertility thing kinda reaffirms that way of thinking, and I hate it. I'm 24 years old; I don't want to worry about rushing to have kids before my ovaries crap out. For God's sake, I don't even have a boyfriend. But alas, thanks to the potential long-term damage done by chemotherapy, I'm sitting here thinking that even if I do manage to save my eggs, what's the point of having kids if my heart's gonna fail like ten years later?
Ugh, I'm sorry, I'm being so morbid. It's all still kinda sinking in, but like I said, I'm medicated now, so I'll be fine lol.
Welp, I guess that's everything I have to report for now. I'll be sure to post again once I visit the long-term followup clinic. And to answer the question posed in my post title, "Frozen, please."
