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Chemo to Double Mastectomy in 6 Weeks

By Ashleigh Armstrong 

With chemotherapy done, I now had to face my next hurdle, a double mastectomy. I was given 6 weeks in between chemo and my surgery to heal and regain some strength. It was such a strange feeling to have nowhere to be. No doctors to poke and prod me. No labs to be drawn.  

A week after chemo was done, I was given an ultrasound and told that I still had half of the tumor left. It went from 2.4 cm to 1.2cm, exactly half gone. This meant that my body was responding to chemo. There was a possibility, however, that the cancer was still alive and well in my body. This idea was running rampant through my mind. 

I was told by my oncologist early on that if chemo didn’t do the job the first time that we’d do it again. I was devastated when I learned that half of the tumor was still there because I knew that meant more chemo, once surgery was done and I wouldn’t achieve PCR.  

PCR stands for Pathological Complete Response meaning your body had a complete response to chemo and there is no cancer left. It is the main goal when going through chemo. In every cancer group I’m in I watched many, many women celebrate this milestone after surgery. I decided to keep this information mainly to myself. I didn’t need anyone else worrying or adding to my already consumed mind. 

Everyone was worried though, just about other things. They kept asking me how I felt. “You’re going to lose your boobs. That must be so hard.” 

I don’t know why but for some reason it just didn’t seem like the end of the world. My boobs or getting rid of the chance of it coming back and having to do this all over again? It didn’t really seem like there was a decision to be made. The latter was the only option. I knew it would have some effect on me eventually but during the waiting process it just didn’t seem to hold any space in my head.  

My wonderful aunt, Laurie, flew in from Washington to help take care of me for the following weeks. She even quarantined at her niece’s house for 2 weeks before coming to mine because of Covid.  

On August 12th, 2020 I went in for my double mastectomy bright and early in the morning. I was allowed to have Lissa come with me but only for one hour during pre op because of Covid. That one hour turned into 3. They were behind on getting started and couldn’t find a vein for my IVs. It turned out that chemo had destroyed my veins. Something I didn’t even know was possible. It took about an hour and a half and an ultrasound machine to get a good vein then the rest of the process was able to continue. Lissa was asked to leave and I was swiftly put under.  

I woke up and felt groggy but fine. I was fed a graham cracker, monitored for an hour and sent home. This part is still crazy to me but I digress.  

The next few days were a blur. My aunt, Laurie, kept me on top of the pain meds and I just slept the days away. By day 4, I felt well enough to not need the pain meds anymore and only took them to sleep going forward. I was up and walking around, hanging out with the twins on the couch and moving around slowly but like normal. Things were looking up.  

We had to rewrap my dressing and I saw myself for the first time. I had expanders underneath the skin so I wasn’t completely flat. I was actually excited by how much skin they were able to save instead of being sad by how I looked. I texted friends saying “I think I’ll be able to be a D again one day.” I look back now and laugh at that.  

The weeks passed by and life went back to normal. I was able to lift my arms again. I wasn’t sore anymore and it was time for my aunt to go home.  

2 days later I got the call from the surgeon with the tumor results. I was a ball of nerves. I thought for sure I was going to receive the news that there was residual cancer at the time of surgery and I was going to have continue with chemo for 12 more weeks. I had Lissa next to me, it was a video call so I didn’t have to be alone for this one.  

Almost in slow motion the surgeon said “You had a pathological complete response. There was no sign of cancer left. I’m not recommending anymore chemo.”  

Lissa fell to the floor in tears. Then she stood up and cheered and clapped. I calmly said “I can’t believe this, thank you!” I stayed calm. I just didn’t believe it. If Lissa wasn’t there, I wouldn’t have believed it.  

It’s been nearly 3 months since my double mastectomy. I’m in the early stages of reconstruction. Currently they have just expanded my skin. All reconstruction stages are behind due to Covid. My hair is growing back just as thick as it was before. I’m receiving Immunotherapy infusions every 3 weeks to lower my chances of a reoccurrence and overall, I am feeling great.  

There is an end to the nightmare that is breast cancer. I’m approaching my 32nd birthday and I plan to cherish it like I never have before. If nothing else, I hope that my story can raise awareness especially for young women everywhere. Breast cancer can happen and it does happen but it’s not the end of the world.  

 

Blessings,  

Ashleigh Noelle 

Pandemic Chemo

By Ashleigh Armstrong 

Chemotherapy for 12 weeks, once a week. Three months of treatment to save my life. I told myself that I carried twins for 9 months and was sick for the entire time. This would be a piece of cake.  

Every single Friday, like clockwork, I went into the cancer center. I got labs drawn from my port then I was taken to a separate space for my chemo infusion. It wasn’t like you see in the movies where everyone sits in a circle or in a line and gets to talk to each other and makes friends. This was pandemic chemo. All of us were safely in separate spaces. All of our nurses had masks and shields and all of us patients were required to wear them too.  

The rooms were normal empty exam rooms. The only thing special about them was one single tile on the ceiling of each room. This tile had a different design for every room. I would send a picture to my family of the tile. “Today, I’m in the Upside-Down Hammock Room.” It seems silly now but it was a way to make them feel like they were with me.  

We couldn’t have any family or friends join us. But that didn’t stop my mom, Lissa, from driving me to and from my chemo appointments every single week. To stay busy, I would play iPhone games with some friends, watch TV, color “Fuck Cancer” coloring books or even nap. It’s not as exciting as one might think. Chemo is just a series of IV bags being pumped through your veins. Mine took about 5 hours in total each Friday.  

The day of chemo I typically felt full of energy, crazy right? They have pre-meds that they give you, one of which was a steroid to help you not feel ill. I would come home like nothing ever happened. The day after chemo was usually similar to this, no big changes. Days three and four however, were always when it hit me. The nausea, the exhaustion, the bone pain. In the first couple of weeks, I described it as a bad hangover.  

In the second week of chemo, I decided I was going to cut all of my hair off and donate it. Hoping it would make its way to another woman like me. I knew right around week 3 is when hair starts to fall out and I wanted to get as much as I could to someone in need. Hair salons were closed because of the pandemic but luckily one of my closest friends is my hair stylist. She came right over for the big chop. I very often was told that I had more hair than anyone else they’ve ever met. Plus, my hair was far down my back. We separated it into braids and one by one cut each braid off. We even let my twins each cut a braid. I thought it would be so much more emotional for me but in that moment, I was just ready to get it over with.  

I hated my new haircut. Love my hair stylist. She had never failed me but I hated this cut on me. This is when I started wearing turbans and scarves. It was actually a blessing in disguise because within 1 week my hair started falling out and I was already used to covering my head.  

One thing I rarely hear talked about, is the pain that some women feel when their hair is falling out. One week later it felt like someone had every piece of my hair in the palms of their hands and were just yanking as hard as they could. It was time to buzz it all off. The next day my hair stylist came over again and this time buzzed my hair all off. I did this in the company of a few friends on Facetime. I shared pictures on Facebook. I was incredibly supported, surprisingly I didn’t feel sad. 

My hair was now gone. My skin was getting paler by the day. Chemo is cumulative. I never knew this until meeting with my oncologist. As the weeks went on it became harder and harder on my body. The first 7 weeks weren’t easy by any means but they were manageable. I started to become much weaker around week 8 and couldn’t stand or walk for very long. I was sleeping much more and my body was hurting.  

My beautiful 11-year-old twins stepped up and helped their mom out. I would sleep for hours on end some days and wake up to fresh glasses of water on my bed side table. I could only tolerate peanut butter and jelly and cup ramen noodles so my son and daughter would make them for me often and encourage me to eat. I used to feel guilty for how alone they were when I was just laying around in bed and sleeping. Now, I look back and realize it was a Fortnite and popsicle party for them. Plus, most nights we’d have a movie night after dinner.  

I have a lot of friends and family that wanted to help. They would’ve gladly taken my twins on weekends or helped with their school work during the week. The pandemic made this especially impossible with my nonexistent immune system. My friends and family still were helpful. They organized a nightly meal train so food was either delivered to my house or made and I didn’t have to worry about cooking.  

Friday after Friday, I went in and finally I made it to week number 12. My best friend was texting me during my infusion asking me how long I thought I had left. I knew she was up to something. Everyone was up to something. I could feel it. My mom picked me up and says “hold on, I just have to update everyone that we’re on our way.” That wasn’t obvious at all. But cute mom, I’ll pretend like I didn’t notice.  

We pulled up to my house and was directed to enter my backyard and my family was standing there safely distanced clapping. My best friend had a bell in her hand, a chair setup and 12 flowers in the ground. One for every chemo session. She told me to ring the bell. I was so excited. One of the things, I was most sad about was not getting to ring the bell in the clinic that symbolizes your done with treatment with family being present. Now I did and it was beautiful! I was high as a kite from all of the Benadryl and Ativan but it was still a moment I will never forget. 

My aunt got a huge cake with a beautiful bell on it. We celebrated for 30 minutes, ate cake, then everyone went their separate ways. I needed to sleep it off. But this was it, it was over. I finished 3 months of chemo.