It’s Getting Hot in Here

Well, it’s official… I’m going through premature menopause.  Yep… that’s right.  My body thinks it’s an old lady.  I have news for you, body. You’re still only 31, and it’s time you start acting like it!

I met with my reproductive endocrinologist today to read the labs I had drawn last week.  I’m a bit anemic, my thyroid looks good, and everything else was screaming “YOUR OVARIES DON’T WORK ANYMORE!!!” Yea, thanks. I had no idea… I thought the whole me randomly catching on fire from the inside thing was a sign of virility. No? Oh, those are hot flashes? Awesome.

So, for those of you who have never experienced a hot flash, let me break it down for you.  Imagine yourself sitting in a movie theater.  You have on a jacket because, as is typical with movie theaters, it’s chilly in there.  Shortly after the previews start to roll, it feels like you’ve lit yourself on fire from the inside.  You take off the jacket. A sweat ‘stache sprouts on your upper lip. Every square inch of your skin is suddenly clammy.  It’s literally all you can do to not rip every stitch of clothing from your body and throw your naked burning self onto the cool concrete floor.  But don’t let anyone see that you feel like you’re inside an incinerator. No, that would be embarrassing.  And by the end of the first preview, you have your jacket back on because everything has returned to normal.  That is what a hot flash is like.  I’ve learned to dress in layers.

When I was in Germany recently, it was hard to sleep some nights because of the hot flashes.  I’ve always put off a lot of heat when I sleep anyway, and my inferno husband just adds to the madness.  So when I had a hot flash at night, it was absolutely brutal.  I must have been a nightmare to sleep with.

But I’ve decided to make nice with the fire raging inside my body. That is to say that I’ve decided to squelch it.  I’m going on hormones. It’s like birth control, but less hormones, and having absolutely nothing to do with preventing pregnancy.  No, no. We’re not trying to prevent pregnancy at this point. Quite the opposite.

Long story somewhat shorter… I get to be on hormones for as long as I don’t want to go through menopause- probably the next 20 years or so.  There are a lot of benefits and some health risks, but those seem minimal.  And there are more health risks if I don’t go on hormones.  In short, the hormones make the menopause go away, and that’s the desired outcome.

Radiation Prep

Radiation is coming up, and there’s a lot of prep work.  On December 30, 2011, I went in to have more scans done and have my gold seeds placed.

Suddenly I’m Worth More

“Gold seeds” are used so that the doctors can easily see the cervix (in my case) on scans. They are actually gold, but look more like tiny coils than seeds.  I have three of them, and I get to keep them forever.  I have been permanently vajazzled. My cervix has a grill.

I got another catheter that stayed in the whole time I was at the hospital (about 5 hours). The nurse then  gave me some drug before the procedure that made me very loopy very quickly.  He proceeded to tell me some information that seemed important.  I looked at him, giggled and said, “You should have told me that before you gave me that drug! I have no idea what you just said!” What I remember about the procedure is that there were a lot of people in the room… probably 5 or 6.  The girl holding my hand was young, and I thought I was going to crush her.  My feet were in stirrups, but not the fluff covered ones of a standard exam room.  These looked more like the walking boots you might get after a broken leg, except that they were blue, not black.  I loved those moon boot stirrups.  They allowed me to flex my feet anxiously and push against them. The rest of the procedure is kind of a blur. My radiation oncologist put in the seeds and took two biopsies. I remember that whatever he did last, hurt. But then it was over, and I was in a wheel chair being whisked off to get my scans.

This Stuff Doesn’t Happen Every Day

I had already had a PET-CT and an MRI, but to prepare for radiation, the radiation oncologist needs to do another PET-CT closer to the time of treatment.  He also asked if I would be interested in participating in a study using a brand new technology- a PET-MRI. This is where they do a PET and an MRI simultaneously and then lay the images on top of each other.  I would be the 31st person to use this particular machine.  He asked if I was even a little bit claustrophobic, and upon hearing that I was not, determined that I would be the perfect candidate for the study.  I’d laid in these types of machines before, and they’re not super roomy, but they’re open at the ends and that makes the experience less terrifying. I thought surely this new machine would be similar in structure to the other machines… and it was.

I laid on the table that would later go into the scanner. Normal. Instead of a pillow there was a plastic form for my head. Not normal, but ok. They put the wedge under my knees so my torso would be flat. Normal. A plastic grid was placed over my pelvis (this allows them to “zoom in”) and strapped down. Normal. A second grid was placed on my chest and strapped down, completely locking down my arms. Not normal. A rubber bulb was placed in my right hand for me to squeeze should I need the scan to stop for some reason. Normal. They put headphones on my head to help block out noise and to allow them to communicate with me, which is normal except that the plastic form was a just the tiniest bit too small for my head and the headphones, so my head got a 45 minute hug from those headphones. Not normal. Ok, not too bad so far. The being completely strapped to the table thing and the squeezed head thing were a bit uncomfortable, but overall not too bad. The doctors and nurses continued to ask about my claustrophobia through the entire process, and I still wasn’t sure what the big deal was.  THEN they put the grate over my face. NOT NORMAL. Oh yes. It was like a hockey goalie’s mask locked over my face. I suddenly felt a kinship with Hannibal Lector.

I kept my eyes closed until the scan was over.

Tattoo You

On January 4, 2012, I went in to the radiation lab to have my mold made. The mold will be used during external radiation to ensure that my body is laying in the exact same position every time.  I stripped down to the buff, and then put on a gown and laid down on a table. Underneath me was a trash bag. No joke. In the trash bag was some sort of chemical solution that the radiation therapist likened to foam insulation… the stuff that is liquid and then expands to fill a space.  As I laid there, the solution began to expand and the therapists pushed it against my body. I had to lay very still for a few minutes so the stuff could harden, and then we were done.

For perspective, imagine I am laying on the mold with my head on the white block at the left edge of the picture, the curve of my lower back is where the wrinkle is in the center of the trash bag, my butt is just below that and then you can see where both of my legs would lay toward the right side of the picture. The mold stops mid thigh. That’s it. That’s the finished product. My name is on it, and this mold gets placed in a storage unit with all the other patients’ molds. It all seems so high tech.

After this procedure, the therapists informed me that they would be giving me 4 tiny tattoos so that the lasers would always be in the correct place on my body. I said, “Tattoo, as in forever?” They said, “Yes.”  I said, “No.” They tried to tell me that the tattoos would be small, like freckles, and I wouldn’t even notice them after a while. I informed them that I am 31 years old and pride myself on not having any tattoos. And the first four tattoos I get are most certainly not going to be in the radiation lab. What are my other options? They said about 25% of patients opt out of the tattoos, which is an alarmingly low number to me. As if I need my little black badges of courage on my body forever reminding me of that time I had cancer. The therapists did what they would have done over my freckle tattoos and said that if the tape starts to come off, I need to come back to the lab immediately to have it replaced. I live about 20 minutes from the hospital, and I’m there a lot, I’ll take my chances with inconvenience over a permanent reminder any day. Here’s what they did…

They lined me up perfectly on the table and traced the laser that was shooting at my body. This is exactly where the laser will hit me every time. The clear tape you can see in several places is just to help keep the paint pen from washing off. This is the whole line.

I have one of these on each hip. It’s like a sight from Deer Hunter. There is also clear tape on these.

What’s Next

I’m doing fertility stuff right now and radiation will follow the egg harvest. I’m on the radiation schedule for January 16, and treatment will last for 6 weeks. That may not end up being the exact start date. It all depends on what my endocrinologist says.

Baby Baker

It is my experience that most people who plan to have children think about things like names, which activities their kids will do, what method of discipline will be used… that sort of thing.  I, of course, have dedicated an exuberant amount of hours to this very thought pool.  Being a mom is the only thing I’ve ever been certain that I wanted to do when I grew up .  Over the past 20 years, I’ve favored names like Jonah, Cannon, and Max for boys and Ava, Murphy, and Kate for girls. I would love for my kids to do gymnastics and swimming and theater.

I, like most parents out there, hope my children are healthy and intelligent and kind and that I raise them to have good heads on their shoulders.  These thoughts are normal and healthy for people who hope to be parents one day. I fall snugly into this category.

As it turns out, I also fall into another category regarding children… the category of people for whom it is significantly more of a pain in the ass to conceive than the norm.  I have recently been thrust into the pile of people whose bodies have presented some issue or another in the old baby making department.  Biologically I have no idea if or how fertile I am.  But what is certain is that in about a month, I will begin radiation and chemotherapy treatments that will most likely fry my ovaries and all my precious eggs.

A month ago, I was still thinking I would get pregnant the old fashioned way… he’d come home from deployment… we’d all but maul each other… my period would be late… I’d be excited… he’d shit himself… and 9 months later… Boom- Baby.  However, in the past 4 weeks, I first had to wrap my head around the possibility of losing my uterus, and just last week, I met with an endocrinologist about doing one cycle of fertility treatments before the chemo/radiation begins.  That’s exactly one chance to harvest as many eggs as possible and get those puppies in a deep freeze… stat.  One chance. I lay in bed at night and listen to how fast my heart is beating. Can you even imagine?

Needless to say, I’m not worried about the cancer. I know that I’m working with the best team available to me. I have every faith in the world that I will get through this and come out the other side a survivor. Yes, it sucks that this is the hand I was dealt, but honestly, we all have some crappy cards in our hands.  The thing that upsets me most is that the cancer is affecting my fertility.  Although, people say that when you work for something, you appreciate it more. So maybe I was in danger of not appreciating my unborn babies. Well, if that’s the case… message received. Check. Rest assured that when I finally do have some biological babies in my arms, they will always know how loved they are.

The fertility treatments will begin in about two weeks and then about two weeks after that the eggs will be harvested.  If the hubs is granted emergency leave, we will use his sperm to fertilize the eggs. If he’s not, we have discussed the other options available to us (using a known or unknown donor and/or freezing unfertilized eggs). There are pros and cons to all of these options. It’s really a very personal decision… and it’s a difficult one. After all of that, we will most likely need to use a gestational carrier (a woman that will carry the fetus). So, calling all lady readers who have had successful, healthy pregnancies!!! I suddenly got super interested in your uterus 🙂 Seriously, if you’re interested or become interested, let me know. It can be very tricky to find someone good to carry a baby.

Not too much will be going on in the next couple of weeks in the way of doctors’ appointments. But starting around January 6thish, things will be hoppin’. It sounds kind of funny, but please pray for my ovaries to produce a lot of mature eggs during this cycle of treatment. We want upwards of 20 😀