Monday Inspiration: Are You Shrinking Yet, Larry The Lump? (Cancer Diaries)

Cancer Diaries: Are You Shrinking Yet, Larry the Lump?

I haven’t posted for a couple of weeks, mostly because the anti-hormone treatment I’m taking for breast cancer makes me feel, frankly, lousy. And you know what? If it works as the oncologists says it should, it will be so worth the exhaustion, brain fog, muscle pain, etc. Let’s have a chat with Larry the Lump to see what he thinks….

As many of you who’ve read these blogs will know, I called my lobular cancer Larry the Lump. This is part of a pain therapy where you name your pain in order to find out what your body needs to be cured or at least pain-free. Larry is a type of cancer which doesn’t show up on the mammograms I had faithfully endured, but he has estrogen receptors, which means that the state--of-the-art treatment is to cut down on estrogen in my body so that the cancer is starved. For me, that could mean the difference between a simple lumpectomy and a full mastectomy. You see, Larry is a Very Large Lump, and surgery right now would be pretty complicated and radical….

The problem is, I hate waiting for anything at all. I’m the kind of person who refuses to stand in line for more than a few minutes. I’ll walk out and miss whatever I was waiting for rather than waste time in a queue.

So, let’s talk to that lump of confused and disaffected cells that is Larry:

“So, Larry old boy, how’s the diet going? Are you skinny yet?”

“Ha! Wouldn’t you like to know the answer to that? Maybe if you gave me my dinner, I’d tell.”

“That would be defeating the purpose of all we’ve been through together with this treatment.”

“Speaking of diets, did you know you seem to have gained a pound or two yourself?”

“I don’t think so.” Rushing to the bathroom mirror to check it out. Larry may be right.

“It’s a side effect of the medication,” I tell the little beast defensively.

I know by the wheedling tone of his answer what he has in mind. “We’d both be better off if you quit that lousy medication. There’s no proof that it really works and think how much better you’d feel. No more hot flashes, cold spells, sleeplessness, nausea, exhaustion, memory problems, foggy brain  – oh, and don’t forget that odd bit of bleeding you-know- where. Did you know the extra pounds make your butt look bigger?””

“Yeah, and all the rest. But no, Larry.”

“Well then, I know how it annoys you not to know what’s happening in my little nest in your left breast. Well, I’m not telling!”

“Why are you being so mean?”

“Because I know how much you hate having to wait for anything. Drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

“Not as much crazy as you do, Larry. Not as much as you.”

“If I don’t get some of that lovely estrogen soon, I don’t know what will happen!”

“I know, Larry. Sorry and all that, but it’s either you or me. And I think I deserve it more than you.”

And hopefully, when we see Dr. V. on November the 4^th, we’ll both know what’s happening and if this treatment is starting to work.

Until then, time for another anti-estrogen pill. J

Monday's Inspiration: Larry the Lump Gets Rude About My Treatment Decision

"Incoming Storm"

Since my post "Good News for Me, Bad News for Larry the Lump", when I was trying to make an important decision on the treatment of my breast cancer, I have had a lot of people asking just what decision I made.

Basically, I had to decide whether to have a mastectomy now and then go on to an anti-hormone treatment to starve out any roving cells, or to take the hormone treatment first, which might shrink Larry the Rather Large Lump, and hope that he would be slim enough for a lumpectomy, thus saving my breast.

After a long weekend of agonizing I decided to go ahead and postpone surgery while I take the drug Letrozole (Femara) for the next four to six months, when we will review the situation and see whether Larry's estrogen free diet has worked. Larry is a lobular carcinoma, the kind that don't show up on mammograms, with receptors for estrogen, which he sucks out of me to form his daily diet.

So far I have met wonderful doctors, including Dr. Angel (yes, that's her real first name) and Dr. V., both of whom I have grown to trust. Dr. V. held my hands, looked into my eyes, and told me that I would be looked after and the treatment carefully monitored for the very best results. If at any time I was worried, or the side effects of the drug proved too much for me, I could call him and get the help I needed.

Can't ask for much more than that, can you? Plus, the support staff are kind, friendly, smart, and committed.

So, then I had to break the news to Larry the Lump. There's a pain therapy that advises naming your pain, getting on first name terms with it and using that connection to discover the source of the pain and what your body needs to heal. It might sound a bit weird, but I've found it very helpful.

We've had lots of chats, Larry and I - I've spent a lot of time visualizing him shrinking, and much more time explaining that we really weren't mean to be soul mates.

So I opened up another of our little chats with the phrase: "Larry, I know you are just a bunch of

confused and disaffected cells from my own breast and I do feel for you, really I do."

This gambit, as always, was met with a snort from Larry.

I went on: "While I have nothing against you personally, old buddy," (the doctors said he'd been around for five or six years, comfortably nesting in my left breast."We're down to the wire and it's really you or me. So, we're cutting off your food supply. From today onwards, no more tasty estrogen for you."

I received an angry screech of "F**k you! I want my dinner!"

So rude, Larry.Tsk, tsk.

And I swallowed the first of my Letrozole pills.

"Sionara, old buddy."