My kick-ass sister-in-law

Many of you will remember Katherine from one of my old posts (see here and here, for example).  She is married to Eli's brother Andy which makes her - you guessed it! - my sister-in-law.  She is 38 years old (her birthday is New Year's Day which is so easy to remember you could send her an email -- you should, it would be adorable if my blog could give Katherine a flood of birthday emails) and she is a professor of geography (which does not just entail studying maps though I'm certain she knows maps generally much better than I do, just ask Eli about our recent conversation about the implications of bombing Syria in Lebanon).  She has two daughters, two stepdaughters (see the links at the top of this post) and guess what else she has?

Triple negative breast cancer.

Can you even believe it?  I cannot.  But apparently 7% of women diagnosed with breast cancer are under 40.

It feels weird and somewhat self-centered to write about my experience of Katherine's cancer, particularly when she has written detailed updates to her friends and family and then written lengthy email responses to my follow-up questions.  But, I asked Katherine if I could do a post about her and she said yes and that I could write whatever I want.  She believes that positive energy helps, and also that she thinks it's an important story for others to read as her diagnosis was such a shock.  (So after you read this, think healthy thoughts toward Atlanta and then go do your breast exam.)

Onward.

Katherine was diagnosed early this month and she had her first chemo treatment a week ago.  Luckily the cancer is not in her lymph nodes.  She doesn't know yet if she has the genetic mutation that will require mastectomies as well as (likely) removal of her ovaries.  (Only 10% of breast cancers are associated with this type of mutation.)

She hasn't lost her hair yet but expects to lose it right around the time of her second treatment which will this coming Friday, October 4th.  Each chemo treatment takes three hours, and she sits in a chair that is a cross between a dental chair and a seat in first class.  She is getting a port for future treatments, but opted not to have one the first time and so she had the medications injected into her left wrist.  This is because, had she opted not to get the port, the treatments would move up her arm as the veins collapsed.

She'll have eight chemotherapy treatments, one every two weeks, but the drugs change after the first four treatments.  Right now she receives adriamyacin and cyclophosphamide; later she'll be given taxol.  Before she gets these drugs, she gets anti-nausea medicine.  This was surprising to me because I thought that chemotherapy meant throwing up but as far as I know (and I was pretty irritating so I had a lot of updates), Katherine never vomited!  (That right there is called a silver lining.)

Anyway, there are many things I didn't know about chemo (and many I still do not know), but one of the most disturbing is that after Katherine has chemo, she has to have a dedicated bathroom in her house because the adriamyacin is so toxic that if any family members come in contact with her bodily fluids, they have to see a doctor.

While I know that this experience has been rough, Katherine has amazed me by never failing to emphasize the positive parts of this experience:

In response to my (incredibly sensitive and delicately-worded) question asking about her post-treatment life:

"In fact, I spoke with a colleague the other day who was diagnosed with breast cancer at 40 (17 years ago--but hers was hormone receptor-positive--not triple negative), and she thought after she hit the 5 year mark that she was clear.  She ended up on a medication regimen for another 5 years (hormone-receptive cases get hormone treatment for years) and is now participating in a clinical trial of different medication.  She said it basically never ends.  But the lessons or the appreciation, wisdom, whatever, don't end, either."

After the first chemo treatment:

"I have to say that your calls, texts, and emails were the highlight of my day.  In fact, the only thing I "did" while in that chair for five (wow!) hours (besides talking to Andy and the nurse) was to stare at my phone, reading about the world, my family and friends.   So thank you."

Since the day Katherine had an appointment with a surgical oncologist who said that her cancer is "treatable and curable", I have been confident that she will be okay.  But I spend hours in the car each day and Katherine's diagnosis has been on my mind all. the. time.  Sometimes I think about how unbelievable it is, and other times, I make myself feel guilty for feeling dissatisfaction with my own life because, really, what do I have to be grumpy about?  A few minutes before I arrive, I inevitably end up in the same place:  Katherine has cancer and she is doing everything she possibly can to fight it and she has great care and she's going to beat it.

But it still sucks.