Knowing Monday was going to be a big day, Bob and I decided to do an impromptu date night on Sunday. Henry went to a dear friend’s house while I gussied myself up (why not), showed a little cleavage (why not), and did my hair that will fall out soon (why not). We perused all the great eateries of the Valley, this time for their vegetarian entrees and mocktail offerings. After some back and forth, we decided on an oldie, but goodie: SY Kitchen. It didn’t disappoint, and we even splurged on the best glass of red on the menu. Worth it!

Monday morning finally came. Our first appointment was at Cottage Hospital for the port placement at 7:30, which made for an early morning for everyone. We dropped Henry off in pajamas at my parents’ house before speeding over the pass to Santa Barbara. With no liquids allowed (including water and coffee), I was in a semi-functioning fog only.

To my surprise, they led us to the trauma wing, and then whisked me away to the OR. I kept picturing this procedure as nothing more than a glorified blood draw. A “nothing burger” as Bob kept referring it to. After about eight different doctors came up and asked how I was feeling, I began to wonder if I had not quite pictured this accurately. The surgery lights came on, and all the doctors and nurses chattered noisily around me as they set the scene. After a quick anesthetizing, I went to a very happy sleep! (Nap #1) And maaaaaan, it was a good nap. They wheeled me back to the recovery room where we’d started the morning to eat some breakfast and come out of anesthesia slowly.

It was then that we received the rather ill-timed call from the genetic counselor who said my results had come back and another bomb was dropped: I tested positive for the BRCA1 gene mutation.

Just my luck.

My slow brain started to churn a little quicker. One in 300-400 women have this gene, so it is rather uncommon, though unsurprising given my family history with breast and ovarian cancers. It also is a much higher recurrence risk for both breast cancer, ovarian cancer, and even uterine cancer.

This news didn’t change my upcoming treatment plan. But it will likely impact my surgery plan. Instead of a lumpectomy here in Santa Barbara, it will likely be a bilateral mastectomy down on the UCLA main campus in LA, followed by a hysterectomy in 2024.

No time to ponder, however. I horked down my breakfast burrito, and we hurried around the corner to the UCLA SB offices’ infusion center where I’d receive my first chemo treatment. As I sat down in the big comfy leather chair and they hooked up the IV to my nifty brand-new port, I kept waiting to feel pangs of low vibration (sadness, fear, resistance) inside myself. But they simply never came. I was, in fact, amped to get it going. It felt like a win to finally be sitting in that chair receiving the medicine that will help heal my body. I felt like I was hugging it, welcoming it, thanking it. And thanking God for getting me there, and for giving us the means to this medicine in the first place.

The nurses were all super friendly, cheerful, and caring, as they clipped out one bag for another of pre-chemo drips for anti-nausea, Benadryl, steroids, anti-anxiety, fluids, and other helpful items to support my body in this fight. Took another nap. Keytruda (the immunotherapy for Triple Negative Breast Cancer) was next, followed by Carboplatin and Taxol (the two chemo types). I didn’t feel anything different. So what did I do?

I took a third nap! 

A dear friend and sister in the fight loaned me her ice gloves and ice booties, which help prevent neuropathy in your fingers and toes from the chemo. She also gave me a cozy electric blanket. I felt like I was on some weird vacation!

And just like that, it was over. Treatment #1 was in the books.

That evening, I felt extra good… also extra chatty. One look at Bob told me he did not have the benefits of all the fun drugs I’d had. Rather he looked like he wanted to crawl inside the first coffin he saw and close the lid.

“I’ll just put myself to bed now,” I said.

I was feeling totally fine (and slightly cocky) going into Tuesday. The day drifted into evening, at which point the drip meds from Monday unexpectedly and without warning wore off. My port placement became sore, and a red heat rash spread over my face, neck, and chest. So, I took Benadryl… which then increased my heart rate and compromised my night’s sleep. (It’s what I get for being cocky.) However, now by the afternoon, the rash seems to be held at bay and even disseminating. So, in my mind, it’s all good.

My parting thought for today is the fact that I believe with all my heart that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, and that Someone/Something is taking care of my every need, my family’s every need, your every need. And it’s my job not to get in the way. Do the work, of course. But allow it to lead you in faith that there is a greater purpose at play.

For example, the BRCA1 gene could be the reason for all of this. It has spurred on a course of action that will not only roll out seamlessly, but also more quickly now. And for all I know, that test result saved my life. And the life of my son, indirectly, as well.

A few quick concluding thoughts:

• Bob is a trooper

• Please pray for Henry as my hair starts to fall out

• Please pray my body can withstand the Keytruda, as I feel it is a key part to this chemo concoction.

• Be at peace knowing you’re right where you’re supposed to be, no matter what is going on around you.

• Don’t get cocky with chemo!

• Family close by is a great gift.

• Naps are the best. 

Thanks, as always, for your love and prayers. Onward.

With love,

Evie