This phase of my life will be marked by the purple gowns. It has become my uniform for what seem like countless mammograms, MRIs, ultrasounds, doctors’ exams, and yesterday, the echocardiogram. The first time I wore it, I thought the cross front was an attempt to be stylish for women’s health. Silly me. There is no form in this medical universe - only function.
The purpose of the echo was to make I don’t have heart damage from the A/C. Adriamycin (the A in the A/C) is one of the older chemo drugs around, still used because it is so effective against the cancer. It also has a history of causing heart failure, which our family knows all too well. Shortly after Sean and I started dating, his mom Robin was diagnosed with congestive heart failure, which the doctors believe was the result of her taking adriamycin many years earlier to fight cancer as well. Remember when I said I had a vision that Robin came to visit me during my first chemo treatment? This is why. This is our connection with the Red Warrior.
When we found out that adriamycin would be part of my treatment plan, it was understandably, incredibly emotional. My oncologist even conferred with her partners to see if there was an alternative chemo drug that could be used. Final recommendation: it works too well not to use it, especially since we’re aiming for cure.
Doctors know so much more about it now, about how to dose it, how to monitor patients closely. I’m received just over half of the dosage that is considered to begin to cause toxicity to the heart. I had an echo before starting chemo and another one after finishing A/C to keep a close eye on my heart function.
I know all of these things logically. And yet, I still found myself in “scanxiety” mode again, where I convince myself that the worst possible outcome will be in the results. I spent all morning obsessively checking MyChart for the results and had trouble concentrating on anything else.
Around midday, I got a call from my oncologist. “Your heart function is perfect and is even better than before chemotherapy.” My ejection fraction (the number that measures how much blood the left ventricle pumps out with each contraction) actually went up since I started chemo. This measurement is apparently pretty dynamic - think of how blood pressure numbers can change dramatically - but ultimately as long as you’re in the normal range, the higher the number the better. Mine went from the low end of normal to the high end of normal.
This was not what I expected.
The doctors are the ultimate experts, of course, but I’m choosing to hold on to the symbolism of my heart getting stronger since I started chemo. Holy shit, this has been so hard. And I feel some seismic shifts happening in me. All I have to say is, when I’m done with all of this, watch out world.
Took this photo after the echo. It felt like an astonishingly accurate selfie: red face from the steroids, watery eyes from the chemo, marks on my face from the mask, sweatpants wig, smudged makeup, eyebrows and eyelashes still hanging on, if barely. But I’m still here.
By the way, I wore my “Will donate organs to RBG” shirt to the echo. It cracks me up in the same way that listening to “Milkshake” by Kelis nonstop does. Key lyrics: “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.”