WELCOME TO "erica's struggle bus"
Hi friends! Many of you have already heard about my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad start of 2026. But I'd like to keep you all in the loop about what's going on. I promise there is snark.
This month, I had two “surgeries,” was poked with so many needles, and eventually learned that chemo will start Monday, April 6 — and last for about 6 months. Then another surgery.
Here’s blog #2 — March Mayhem (what is normal?!).
Appointments Galore
I was always aware that a major health issue comes with a lot of appointments. But it's EXHAUSTING. The system is not set up for people with a 9 to 5. Not only are you dealing with the mental gymnastics of receiving this news, you are also being poked, prodded and scanned with what feels like every machine they have available at a hospital. Luckily I'm not claustrophobic.
Get your medical procedure bingo card ready! CT scan, bone scan, MRI, another mammogram, a second opinion, physical therapy consult, and (by far the worst) an MRI-guided biopsy.
Let’s talk about that last one. Zero stars, would not recommend! They try to numb you while in the MRI machine. Then have to place markers, check the placement and then do the biopsy ... this was unpleasant and extremely overwhelming. I actually started getting slightly claustrophobic. And, as previously stated, I’m not claustrophobic.
After all those procedures, we got to the point of surgically placing the chemotherapy port. But amid all of the cancer treatment pokes and prods, I was preparing for another surgery.
needles & CRyopreservation
In addition to the chemo prep, we decided to freeze my eggs because, well, chemo kills everything. (Technically, everything with rapidly dividing cells, like hair and reproductive stuff).
The fertility appointments come with a whole other set of conditions. Check-ins every-other-day to start (and then every day at the end), daily medications (shots), traveling to offices at least 30 minutes away, and a lot of financial paperwork. This is not for the faint of heart and it's not an easy process. But I keep thinking, this is all going to be more enjoyable than chemo. And this gives us a new goal, something to look forward to.
The injections were … very memorable.
The first day I had to do the shots, Joel and I went in confident. We had everything ready — they give you videos to watch to help prepare. And Joel looks at the needle: "I'm not sure I can do it.” Of course, I'm brave and said "give it here" — but my fight-or-flight kicked in and I “noped” my way out of that. And Joel did fantastic! The shots started at two per day and got progressively more complicated.
Meanwhile, we were realizing 2026 may feel like a lost year. About two weeks of multiple daily injections really wears on you — especially with other appointments that go with a cancer diagnosis. There were nights that I said "I don't want to do any of this, I just want Chase.” Nights that I cry for 20 minutes because it's hard. And then there are nights that I can write all of this to you, like it's just some messed up dream.
Fertility preservation was not an easy process, but I'm glad we were able to do it. The surgery (the actual egg retrieval) was a quick 10 minute thing with a fairly light recovery.
WHAT IS NORMAL?
I don't think I've gotten to sleep past 7 a.m. in weeks. We’ve been on-the-go all month. I wish we were doing fun things. Instead it’s fertility appointment, bone scan, fertility appointment, MRI, fertility appointment. I had two appointments a week for cancer-related things the entire month of March... again, it's a lot. I would like to have some normalcy, a more natural schedule. But I'm trying to stay positive and look for the upside in test results, the random fun I get to have, and the fact that this all will be happening while it's warm outside. Sunshine for the win!
It's a funny thing the "hurry-up and wait" — I think March has been the hurry-up portion, and I feel like the wait portion is going to be when chemo starts. Wait to see if the chemo is doing something. Hope and pray that it all just disappears. I said recently, there was a time at the beginning scans that I hoped they had gotten the test mixed up with someone else, but each scan just confirmed the last. The tumor is real and it's not going to go away on its own. The whole experience is annoying, frustrating and very much confusing. How could someone at 40 years old have Triple Negative Breast Cancer when everything was OK a few months ago? But to sit with these thoughts too long, to let them take over is unproductive and unhelpful. I have a lot of life to live — plenty to look forward to.
Nothing and no one is “normal.” I once heard that everyone you know and everyone you meet is going into, coming out of, or going through a crisis. It is a little odd to be going through multiple crises all at once. Absurd.
Pedicures with my Mother-In-law, Mom and one of many aunts.
SECOND OPINIONS & PORT PLACEMENT
Some medical appointments are better than others. Like our second opinion at Johns Hopkins. That was an extremely uplifting and positive experience. Except the parking situation at Hopkins is chaos — I almost got into it with an old man in the garage. If you know me, this is not a surprise! The lot itself said “FULL.” But the attendants said “you can drive around and look.” Well, a casual stroll revealed many open spaces — and a traffic jam of confused drivers.
The doctor we met with studies Triple Negative Breast Cancer (TNBC) and really took the time to explain what the standard of care is for TNBC. We walked out feeling confident that there was nothing in my case that should change our treatment plan. But we learned a lot about clinical trials that are happening, including ones if you don't achieve “pCR” (a cancer-free status after surgery). All very positive, and they were impressed with how quickly my team in Pennsylvania is moving to get treatment started! That is extremely encouraging!
Now to surgery #2. Port placement: surgery to place a device that makes it easier to deliver chemo without shredding my veins. There were 3 different ways my surgeon could place the port. By process of elimination, she ended up with number 3. I was later jokingly told I was a “problem patient” — sorry for having small veins! Recovery was frustrating. My arm was stiff and my muscles were sore, on top of healing incisions. It took 3-4 days before I had full range of motion and it was frankly, annoying! Everything had to stay covered until another follow-up appointment, and it started to get really itchy!
But what’s coming up next will be the hardest part of the fight. The part that you don't quite know what to expect and how you will react. All the possible emotions about chemotherapy are surfacing. Apprehension, anxiety, sadness, and even though it might sound weird — anticipation. I'm glad to be starting the process of removing this cancer. I'm glad that there is action being taken.
Grateful...
I want to give a sincere Thank You and shout out to my wonderful and supportive husband Joel! He has had to be the one to deal with all of my emotional rollercoasters. Anger, frustrations, sadness, exhaustion, fear... all of it. And his answer to it all is "I GOT YOU"! He is the greatest thing I found on the internet (our best joke) and I know I could not do this without him!
