My name is Traci Mulder, and I am 40 years old. I have been a breast cancer survivor for six years, since
Immediately following my breast cancer diagnosis, my thoughts turned to my unborn child. What would happen to my baby? I learned soon thereafter that the baby, who would have been a little brother or sister to my sweet son Cameron, was not meant to be. With this loss weighing heavily on my heart, I went through a painful recovery process post-mastectomy, before I started chemotherapy.
Choosing An Oncologist
Before the chemotherapy port was placed in my chest, I had to choose an oncologist. I was referred to a couple different oncologists, one of whom would select the appropriate chemotherapy regimen for me. The oncologist I decided on was so popular that we had to schedule an early-morning appointment for before his office even officially opened.
That morning, as my husband, Eric, and I sat in the office waiting for the doctor, I thought to myself, “This man is the one who will attempt to save my life by pumping me full of poison.” I focused on the negative connotations of the word chemo while contemplating the treatment that would save my life. It seemed to me the ultimate oxymoron, a healing poison.
When the oncologist walked into the room, I liked him almost instantly. He was not overbearing, not arrogant, not cold or impersonal. I later found out that he himself is also a cancer survivor. He sat down with us and took as much time as we needed to explain why he thought we should do what he was proposing. The oncologist wanted to use four different types of chemotherapy drug. He wanted to be very aggressive due to my age. I was only 34. He wanted to make sure that whatever cells drug A didn't kill drug B would, and whatever chemotherapy drug B didn't get, C would and whatever C didn't, D would. You get the picture.
The
It had only been three weeks since my mastectomy, but time was of the essence. Within the next week, after selecting my oncologist, I had a port surgically put in. Hours later, I was hooked up to begin my first chemotherapy treatment.
In spite of my oncologist’s soothing demeanor and convincing explanation about the importance of this chemo regimen, I hated the word chemo and was terrified at the prospect of beginning treatment. The word alone sent chills down my spine and made my heart feel as if it couldn't beat any faster if I were running a marathon. I felt myself move beyond anxiety to true unadulterated terror…
Looking back on my chemotherapy, I wouldn’t say that there’s nothing to be afraid of, but I found that it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. For the most part, my treatment went without incident. I had the normal subsequent nausea from it, but after playing around with different medications, we finally found the right cocktail of drugs that worked for me.
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