CCAM

A Day in the Life: A Cervivor on Chemo

My name is Jodi Madsen. I am a thirty-year-old mother of two toddlers living with stage IIIC2 adenosquamos cell carcinoma of the cervix. I completed weekly chemo and daily external radiation for eight weeks in the spring of 2021 followed by four internal radiation sessions.

I started a new cocktail of chemotherapy in August 2021 consisting of Avastin, Carboplatin, and Paclitaxel every three weeks. I wanted to share what a day in the life of someone in active healing looks like, because I know how terrifying the word chemotherapy can be. 

November 1, 2021

10:00 p.m.

I take five tablets of 20 mg dexamethasone and try to settle in enough for my brain to allow me sleep before the medication kicks in and I am brimming with energy. I am loading steroids before the six-hour chemo infusion I have tomorrow. I then arrange my next dose on the nightstand and grab a book. My husband is snoring beside me in our queen bed at the hotel about ten minutes from my treatment center.

We made the seven hour drive to South Dakota from our home in northwestern North Dakota a few days prior to drop my toddlers off with my mom, then the seven hour drive from there to Nebraska Medicine in Omaha the day before. In an effort to forget that I had to miss Halloween with our two young boys, we got last minute tickets to Hamilton at The Orpheum. I was honestly still buzzing from the theater and probably wouldn’t have known if the steroids kicked in. Before I know it, the clock reads midnight. I set my alarm and revel in the wonderful news I was given via MyChart update from the CT scan taken earlier that day. Shrinkage and no new growth, all in barely comprehensible medical terms that would be translated to mostly English at my appointments in the morning. I stay up for at least another hour thanking everything I know as well as trying to wrap my head around what a cancer free life could possibly look like for the first time in seven months.

November 2, 2021

4:00 a.m.

I am gently awakened by my husband to take my next dose. I begrudgingly welcome the constant headache brought on by the steroids. Five more tabs down the hatch and back to sleep.

6:15 a.m.

Another alarm and small nudge. “Are we going out to breakfast before your 8:15 appointment? If so, we have to get moving.” Knowing roughly what time it is and the small amount of sleep I was able to get I quickly decide that we will eat at the continental breakfast downstairs. I had a book that I wanted to pass along to the resource center at the Buffet Cancer Center and bring the gal running the place, Terri, a caramel macchiato. There was an instant bond between us when she helped light a spark within me three weeks ago. She helped pick out some wigs that transformed me outside and in. I wish I could send everyone on a cancer journey to her, her light shines brightly far beyond her services and I am grateful to have stumbled upon her office because she is sincerely so wonderful. I tell everyone to seek out their treatment center’s recourse office or center, visiting adds a portion of pure happiness to my trips in for chemo. Also, obviously, they have incredible resources. 

7:50 a.m.

We enter Nebraska Medicine’s Buffet Cancer Center to find about 30 people waiting their turn to go through COVID prescreening. I believe we were met with a wait to calm myself and slow down the rush we were in. It is amazing what you see when you know The Universe is, in fact, conspiring for your success. In order for us to get over to see Terri, we had a lot of ground to cover quickly. We got through the screening at 8:03 a.m. and we were at Radiation Oncology in six minutes. Win! My nurse was at the reception desk and took us to get my vitals immediately. I hadn’t seen her or anyone in RadOnc since May and it was so great to catch up, even if she was very surprised to see my hair in a bob as opposed to the mid-back blonde locks she had last seen me wear. The surprise escalated when I told her it wasn’t mine and went on to update her on my current treatment status. She is one of those nurses that was, no question, destined for the job. My husband and I both grew an awesome relationship with her back in April when we saw her a few times a week for brachytherapy. 

8:37 a.m.

My Radiology Oncologist, Dr. Wahl, came in and answered my questions and touched on concerns about my scans. There were two lymph nodes that popped hot in my PET scan in July, one left lower cervical (in my neck) and the other along the right pelvic wall. Both showed considerable shrinkage. I knew this information already from reading MyChart, but hearing the words directly from an oncologist hit differently and we are overcome with happiness. He tells my husband and I that this is a fast reaction to chemo and they are very pleased with progress. I was granted the luxury of skipping the pelvic exam they had planned because my last one was about six weeks ago. Privacy is a luxury that I don’t really remember. Through having a cancer related to a reproductive system, telling the world about said cancer, and having kids-privacy is a mere memory.

10:15 a.m.

Checked in to the infusion center and we are taken back after about 15 minutes. My platelets have been low in the past and have been dancing on the line of being too low to receive my treatment the last two times. Since our home is 10 hours away from Omaha, I had blood tests done on the base at home Friday and sent down here to find out that my new practice of being mindful, intention, and concentrating energy on raising them has worked wonders and they are high! I did not have a urine test done at the base to make sure there is not protein present and my kidneys are still doing their job, so that is priority before I can get my chemo started.

11:30 a.m.

My nurse, Kelsi, comes in to ask me for more urine to send down to the lab as it was the tiniest amount short, like half a milliliter short, and gets my pretreatment drips ready. One antinausea tab, two Benadryl, more steroids, and a long term antinausea drip. As the half hour of pre-drugs is finishing up, we hear the Urine Analysis shows negative for protein and we are set to start chemo. First up, Avastin. She’s like the kicker chemo. Not necessarily the star of the show, but has been proven to aid the other two in doing their jobs. Nate has gone to grab us lunch from downstairs. The new responsibilities of the role he was flung into are executed wonderfully and more efficiently every trip we make. He arrives just before the lines start at the food court and has lunch to me before the next chemo switch. 

12:30 p.m.

My knight roamed the hospital halls and brought me a burger and salad that I flew through. In comes the star, Paclitaxel. Forgive me for this Benadryl induced comparison, but she is the Cady from Mean Girls in the pack. Shows promise of having good intention, and just being a cool chick. She’s here to help and is down to go the extra distance to get her job done, no matter how malicious the nature may be. Next thing you know there is a schoolwide “Come to Jesus” and she’s coincidently right there when you get hit by a bus… without hair. Did she push you? No one may ever know, but in the end, shows heart and progress no matter the crap side-effects that follows in her wake. All of the exhaustion from the rush of the day hits at once and I stash my computer and get some rest after about an hour of writing and catching my day up. 

4:15 p.m.

I take my time in returning to the world of consciousness as Nate does the same. Kelsi is about to switch out my chemo and start the last, Carboplatin. It is a half an hour drip and I spend the rest of my time at the infusion center scrolling and chatting my husband up while he does the same.

4:50 p.m.

My port is de-accessed and we are free to go! We head to a small shop to get overwhelmed browsing books and trinkets. I spend far too long staring at their wall of books before I realize I have a meeting in half an hour. We rush back to the hotel and make it just in time.

9:00 p.m.

I am settled into bed next to my snoring soulmate with a book that I have been working on finishing for entirely too long. Our suitcases and cooler are already packed up and tucked away and ready for the drive back to our boys. What a good set of days. So much laughter, some tears, an uncountable amount of relief sighs and internal celebration, great conversations, and a treatment plan that IS WORKING! The way my husband and I both approach even the smallest aspects of life has changed in about every way imaginable. We look at things through lenses we didn’t know existed a year ago, and this hardship has brought out the biggest beauties in the smallest moments. Tomorrow I will hug my kids and tell them that yes, Mommy is getting better. 

Jodi & Nate

Jodi is a Cervivor community member who lives in North Dakota with her husband of five years and two small children and they spend most of their time outdoors. Jodi started a blog shortly after her diagnosis to bring awareness to the world of cervical cancer as well as share her progress with friends and family in one central location. Cervivor found their way into Jodi’s life in October 2021 during her second treatment regimen. She hopes to give other women in similar situations a sense of community by offering her story to bring to light that life with cervical cancer can have just as many highs as lows.     

Taking Care of Your Mental Health

A cancer diagnosis rocks your entire world! No matter where you are in life, hearing that you have any cancer is an enormous hit. 

I was 26 years old in 2018 when I received my cancer diagnosis. I was working as a security officer and learning to cope with a new mental illness diagnosis from an unrelated event. I was struggling mentally, but I was also having some physical issues. I was noticing changes in my body. My periods got longer, the pain wouldn’t stop, and I went to the emergency room. The doctor told me I had an enlarged cervix during that visit and treated me with antibiotics. When I had my yearly pap test, they found a mass and wanted to do a biopsy. It was at that moment that I became full of anxiety. I was full of fear. All I heard was “cancer,” “hysterectomy,” and “no kids.” How would I manage? How would I tell my family? How would I FEEL? 

BEFORE CANCER

Before I was diagnosed with cancer, I didn’t handle my anxiety and depression with care. I tried to avoid conversations. It wasn’t until my cancer diagnosis that I realized how important mental health is as a part of our overall well-being! My father always told me that we could never make sound decisions without a clear mind. I used that as a basis for taking care of myself. I needed my mind clear to remember appointments, to remember medicines, to communicate with my team, the people around me, and so much more. I needed a clear mind to advocate for my care. 

AFTER CANCER

After my cancer diagnosis, I had to deal with many different feelings. The top three were anger, sadness, and guilt. I couldn’t wrap my head around having cancer and the future of no children. I felt like I had to make decisions quickly, although I talked it through with my parents. The talks of infertility, menopause, and treatment weeks made my head spin. I almost didn’t go through with the chemo and radiation. At some points, I felt like less than a woman because I could no longer naturally reproduce and I no longer functioned the way I used to. I had a lack of libido, so sex wasn’t so appealing to me. These were some of the things I found it hard to talk about, so at times, I suffered silently. 

SUPPORT & SELF-CARE

A support system is vital in finding mental/emotional stability before and after a cancer diagnosis. Most importantly, self-care is an excellent way to ensure that you find some ease in dealing with day-to-day routines. After realizing that my parents and fiancée would be there the whole way through, it eased my paranoia, and I felt empowered. I vowed to live life in the very moment and heed my tattoo to learn to accept the things I cannot change and have the courage to change the things I can, with wisdom to know the difference (Serenity prayer). 

Another way I coped before/after my diagnosis was meditation for at least 15 minutes each day. I affirmed that I would be healed, proclaimed that I would find peace, and declared that I would find a way to raise awareness and do what I can to teach people around me about how important it is to care for ourselves.

I saw a therapist at least twice a week a to talk and not see judgment. It was some of the best conversations I’ve ever had. My therapist helped me make sense of a lot of my emotions. She helped me see when I would misplace my anger and got me into journaling, which is another excellent way to cope and get things off your chest. 

Joining a support group also played a part in my mental health. I connected with other women who were feeling the same; they got it. I joined at least three or four different groups. They were all caring and positive. We shared our feelings, thoughts, and encouraged one another. Usually, I would not join groups like this, but they were safe spaces.  It made me feel good and at peace, but sometimes I would feel guilty that I complained so much, and as it seemed some women were enduring so much more than me. Now, I understand that I don’t have to write off my pain to validate someone else’s. Empathy is real!  I would advise you not to join or leave any support group that makes you feel bad or does not resonate with what you are looking for. 

Although cancer can make you feel exhausted, disabled, and empty, it can also make you feel empowered, tenacious, and beautiful. Remember that you are worth it. You shouldn’t be ashamed to seek mental health advice when your anxiety or stress feels too heavy. Some fun and creative ways to help relax would be arts, coloring books, and music. Talk it out or write it down, but it is never healthy to hold it in. Also, remember that it is OKAY NOT to BE OKAY! We often think that we must be strong for everyone around us, but we don’t have to pretend that we do not need a shoulder to lean on sometimes. 

Kyana is part of our Cervivor community and is a survivor of stage IIIB cervical cancer. Diagnosed at 26 years old, she found empowerment through Cervivor. Cervivor’s online groups taught her how to be more vocal about her care and spread awareness so that others are able to feel that same empowerment and advocate for themselves. Kyana shares her story in hopes that it will teach just one person about the importance of self-advocacy and preventative care, and to eliminate stigmas.