cancer

Life goes on.

There was a time, back in the day, when I blogged every night. It was cathartic, an outlet for my frustration as well as a creative endeavor. When I started this, I thought that I would do a daily post to document my journey through cancer. Ha. This fatigue is so overwhelming that (most days) the thought of opening the computer to write is more than I can bear. Most days I feel like I’m holding my breath, willing the storm in my body to calm… afraid to rock the boat.

The first few months, I was so stressed out about the things I couldn’t do around the house. Dirty dishes and crumbs on the floor drove me crazy. Now, I don’t even notice the mess. My priorities have changed. In a way, I feel like I’m in the eye of the storm. There are a million things swirling around me and I can’t afford to pay attention to any of them.

The second cycle of AC has been a little different – less pain and neuropathy but more fatigue and nausea. So, it balances out to remain awful.

Red Devil, 2 of 4

This is the fifth month that I’ve been in treatment and I’m so ready for this portion to be over. Six cycles down, including six rounds of immunotherapy and fourteen chemotherapy treatments. Just two more and I’ll have a short break before surgery. Sometime in the next month I’ll be going for another breast MRI to check the progress. I’m not really nervous. The tumor is no longer palpable, so I know the chemo is working. Best case scenario, the cancer will be completely gone and I’ll achieve pCR. Worst case? The tumor is smaller, but the cancer has spread to other areas. Of course, TNBC has such a high rate of recurrence (40%) that everything could go well, and it might still come back. That is the scary part – that all of this will have been for nothing.

In addition to the MRI, I need to meet with the surgeon to develop a plan for surgery. Treatment after surgery will depend on what type of surgery I decide to do and the results of pathology. So, there are still a lot of unknowns.

For now, I’m going to try and focus on one day at a time. I’m spending as much time with my grandkids as possible, although it is hard for me to play with them anymore.

Red Devil Update – The River

Tomorrow, I go for my second treatment (Keytruda + AC chemo) and thought I should look back and reflect on the last three weeks. This round of treatment has been a hundred times worse that the first four cycles. Even though I’m going every three weeks instead of every week, the side effects are much stronger and last longer. The first week I couldn’t do anything at all. The second week was a little better, but still terrible. The third week was manageable, but I feel like I’ve been through the ringer.

4 days after treatment
19 days after treatment

The nausea hasn’t been bad. I have several anti-nausea meds that help with that. There is a general feeling of being unwell, like something is wrong with my body but I can’t pinpoint what or where. The fatigue is debilitating. I will sit there for hours trying to get the energy to do simple tasks. My life has gotten stripped down to the bare minimum, stuck in a holding pattern trying to make it through these couple of months. Other side effects include a constant headache, rashes, neuropathy. I was prepared for all of this, but what I wasn’t prepared for is the pain. Joint paint, bone pain, abdominal pain, pain under my fingernails… Ugh! I spent the first week crying uncontrollably because it was unbearable. But gradually, it has gotten better – just in time to do it all over again.

Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away.

Marcus Aurelius

When it gets too bad, I remind myself that this too shall pass. It helps not to fight the pain, but to embrace it. Feel it wash over you and let time do its thing. I cannot control what is happening to me, but I can control my mind and find quiet and peace in the suffering. I am grateful for it. Everything that I’m going through right now is designed to beat this cancer and give me more time with my family, so how can I not appreciate that?

The Red Devil

Yesterday (now two days ago because it has taken me that long to finish this) I started the dreaded AC chemotherapy along with my regular immunotherapy (Keytruda). It was/is pretty bad. I’m able to control the nausea pretty well with medication, but I feel absolutely horrible. It is like the worst motion sickness, combined with headache, joint/bone pain, extreme fatigue and neuropathy in my hands and feel. This round there is the added bonus of sharp pains shooting under my fingernails. Good times.

Before going in, the red drip, and during treatment:

Positive energy going in
the red devil
during treatment

This is the first time that I’ve felt such an instant reaction to the medication. I went in determined to have a good experience but instantly got sick. The nurses were concerned because my color drained and I started shaking. Boy, was I glad to have my chemo quilt yesterday!

Today I didn’t feel any better, but I know that this too shall pass. I was talking to my son, and he said to focus on the glimmers of hope. Small steps… progress… days when I don’t feel so bad. That is good advice, because looking at the next year stretching out in front of me is daunting.

AC chemotherapy, second day after the first cycle (March 27, 2025)

I never would have imagined posting such unflattering photos of myself online. But I want to keep it real here. I’m documenting this for my kids, for the future. If I look bad, I guarantee that I feel worse. I’ve cried so much in the last two days I don’t have any tears left. I’m learning to let go and feel the feelings, cry when I need to and pull myself back up.

Maybe someone else diagnosed with TNBC will find this and know that they are not alone. It is a rough road for sure, but easier when traveled together.

Quartermaster

Two days ago, I had my last dose of Taxol: four cycles with three treatments in each cycle. It feels good to acknowledge this small milestone because it means I’m one step closer to beating this thing. I told my dad that I was happy to be halfway to the halfway point and he laughed. “We’ll have to call you quartermaster,” he said.

So, to celebrate here is a quick overview of my treatment plan and where I go from here.

STAGING

Diagnosis and Testing

November ’24 diagnosed with TNBC (2.8cm tumor). Insurance denied scans to check for spread. Stage 2 based on tumor size.

NEOADJUVANT THERAPY

Immunotherapy and Chemotherapy

Keytruda every 3 weeks for 6 months.

Taxol every week for 3 months. DONE!

Doxorubicin every 3 weeks for 3 months.

SURGERY

Lumpectomy or Mastectomy

Surgical plan TBD.

ADJUVANT THERAPY

Immunotherapy and Radiation

Keytruda every 3 weeks for 6 months.

Radiation 5 days a week for 8 weeks.

Possibility of additional chemotherapy depending on pathology results from surgery.

To be honest, I’m a little nervous about starting this next round of chemo with Doxurubicin. It is nicknamed “The Red Devil” and has a reputation for being difficult to tolerate.

The first three months with Taxol have been difficult, but manageable. I have been exhausted, nauseous, rashy and in a lot of abdominal pain. BUT, I haven’t been throwing up and have been (mostly) able to eat. So, it’s been a mixed bag. If I’ve learned anything going through this process so far, it is to be grateful for the little wins.

The hardest part for me has been not being able to take care of my family the way that I want to. I can’t work and that has been a huge strain on the household. I don’t have the energy to take care of the grandkids or clean the house. The stress (financial and emotional) is difficult to manage.

Three months into a twelve-month journey and I’ve already changed so much. The photo on the left is the last selfie I took before my diagnosis (October ’24). The photo on the right was taken a couple days ago during my last Taxol dose.

FUNDRAISING

We are going to be doing a raffle next month to raise money for medical expenses. Still working on the details, but it should be fun.

For ongoing support, my daughter has set up a GoFundMe here.

Or, if you just want to buy me a coffee my CashApp is $KristalArmendariz.

Thank you so much to everyone who has donated, shared posts, liked or commented on social media, called, texted or dropped off food/gifts. It means a lot to me and my family to know that we are not alone in this.

ups and downs

It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve written here, but every day feels the same. I think I might be feeling better and then I do something – dishes, laundry, walk outside… and the fatigue hits me. The symptoms have definitely been getting worse over the past couple of months and I’m tired.

Something new that just started happening the last week is that I’ll get the chills and start shaking. My doctor said to go to the emergency room if my temperature goes over 100, so I always check when I get the chills. But no fever. My temp has been dropping to 95. I’ve been using a heating pad or taking a hot bath to bring it back up and once it gets close to 97 I’ll stop shaking and be fine.

These photos were all taken on the same day and are pretty representative of a typical day for me. I got up and got ready, feeling hopeful about the day (1st pic). Had to go to the center for treatment and was feeling pretty tired, but still holding it together (2nd pic). Came home and crashed – tired but also in a lot of pain: abdominal pain, headache, body aches, chills, neuropathy.

good morning
cycle 4, treatment 2
good night

I have one more session of the Taxol + immunotherapy and then we are switching over to AC + immunotherapy. I’m not sure what to expect. From what I’ve read online AC can cause more nausea, but it’s hard to say. These drugs have such a wide range of side effects, and they affect everyone to differing degrees.

I’m going to hope for the best and keep on keeping on…

March 3rd

Today is Triple Negative Breast Cancer Day, the beginning of an entire month dedicated to this disease. Before being diagnosed, I had never even heard of it. Now, it has taken over my life.

The last three months have been a whirlwind of doctors’ appointments, lab work, scans, tests and treatment. Most days I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror. I’m not even halfway through the first six months of chemotherapy and immunotherapy. I still have surgery, radiation, six months of immunotherapy (and the possibility of more chemotherapy) to look forward to after I’m done with my current therapies.

But life goes on.

I’m trying not to focus on all the things I can’t do. Work, move, sleep, think. Instead, I’m trying to lean into the things I can do. Breathe, be patient, accept what I cannot change, choose to be happy.

Spending time with my grandkids means so much to me. They don’t understand anything about cancer. They don’t notice or care that I don’t have hair. A bad blood test means nothing to them. They want snacks and hugs and play time. I’m learning to let go of worry and expectations and live in the moment. When I’m tired, I rest. When I’m hungry, I eat. I’m enjoying every moment I can, as much as I can.

Because life goes on.

family

Last week, my daughter went to treatment with me. This week, my youngest son was going to stay with me. BUT…. my white blood cells were too low again so I got a shot to boost them. I’m going back tomorrow to redo my labs. Then, depending on the results, it will either be another shot or my chemo.

It is incredibly frustrating to have to pause treatment. Every day that this is put off is another day longer tacked on to the end. I just want it to be done. The hard part is that, even if I do everything I’m supposed to do, there is still a chance that I won’t be done at the end of it. The cancer might not be 100% gone. It might come back. There is just no certainty and that’s hard.

Rough week.

a week ago…

I didn’t have treatment last week due to low WBC count. I was tired, but not exhausted. Every day felt closer to a good day, like if I could just rest a little I would wake up feeling fantastic. I didn’t, of course. But it was a hopeful week.

Monday I went for treatment and any thought of feeling ok went right out the window. This week has been ROUGH to say the least. It didn’t help that I had a colonoscopy to prep for. That went well. Now I’m up at 2:30 am in pain and unable to sleep. Hungry, but nauseous. Terrible headache.

I keep reminding myself that this too shall pass. Nothing lasts forever.

what a difference a year makes

January 2024 vs January 2025

These photos were taken almost exactly a year apart. Last year, I was in California helping my daughter. This year, I can barely get out of bed. I’ve lost my hair and about fifty pounds. I’m covered in rashes and scaly patches. As bad as I look, I feel worse. But I am happier today (and more grateful) than I was a year ago.

Why?

Maybe when you are forced to fight and struggle for something you appreciate it more. I have been blown away by the support of my family, friends and even strangers. My kids have really stepped up to help – organizing fundraisers, running errands, taking over chores. My husband (who hates waiting and has never gone to the doctor with me or the kids before) has taken me to all my appointments, labs and treatments without complaint.

I am lucky.

Everyone’s journey with breast cancer is different. Some people are able to have surgery and be done. Others have chemotherapy, immunotherapy, radiation or a combination of all three. Some people gain weight, some people lose weight. Some tolerate treatment well with few symptoms, others struggle. Some people lose their hair, some don’t.

The type of cancer I have (triple negative) is very aggressive, so my treatment is as well. I’m currently doing chemotherapy (every Monday for 24 weeks) that includes Paclitaxel and Carboplatin. Every three weeks, I also get immunotherapy with Pembrolizumab. Every Friday, I get lab work done to ensure I am strong enough to handle treatment. This week, I wasn’t. Instead of my regular treatment, I had to go in twice for injections to boost my white blood cells.

Even after these six months are up, I won’t be done. It will be surgery, followed by another six months of immunotherapy. I will also get 6-8 weeks of radiation (five days a week). Hopefully, all this will be worth it, and I will achieve pCR (pathological complete response).

Whatever happens, I will continue to fight and choose to be happy.

If you want to donate to medical expenses, participate in the fundraiser (February is a Valentine’s gift basket raffle), or buy me a coffee, here is the information:

  • GoFundMe – organized by my daughter, this helps with medical expenses
  • CashApp – $KristalArmendariz
  • Zelle – If you are interested in sending money directly this way, please email me or message me on Facebook/Instagram for the phone number.

symptom update

I started out using a handwritten record of symptoms but found that it was hard for me to visualize or utilize the data. Chemo brain is real! A few weeks ago, I started using an excel spreadsheet to track symptoms and severity over time. I really like that it consolidates everything into a graph at the top so that I can visualize trends over time.

The symptoms that bother me the most are the ones you can’t see – fatigue most of all. The symptoms that are apparent to others are the rashy skin and hair loss. So, here’s how those are going:

so tired

My hair is definitely not growing out and is very patchy. My skin is painful and I’m getting a lot of small sores all over my scalp. I’ve found wearing a soft ‘chemo cap’ while I sleep helps. I’m getting a lot of rough scaly patches on my face, which isn’t fun. I’ve also gotten a lot of allergic like rashes all over my legs. Taking Benedryl for that and it helps enough.

I’ve experienced a wide variety of symptoms, some daily and some just once in a while:

DAILY

  • Fatigue!!
  • Nausea
  • Headache
  • Insomnia
  • Rashes
  • Hair Loss
  • Mouth Pain
  • Skin Sensitivity
  • Flu Like Aches and Pain
  • Chemo Brain

OCCASIONAL

  • Neuropathy
  • Constipation
  • Diarhhea
  • Cramping
  • Bloody Stool
  • Chest Tightness
  • Shortness of Breath