Love reducing my risk of cancer recurrence, but HATE what ARIMIDEX® has done to me.
After three surgeries, eight chemos, 1.5 years of Tamoxifen with its drenching hot flashes ("flash floods"), I was "upgraded" to ARIMIDEX® (anastrozole). "It is more effective and most women have fewer hot flashes," I was told. Five years of Tamoxifen or ARIMIDEX® will reduce recurrence by 50%, I read. I also read that 80% of women do not complete the five years...hmmmmmm. Naive newbie, I was, come hell or high water, I was going after the 50%. I remain committed to completing the treatment. Nothing will rob me of the 50% reduction. What I did not expect was the price I would pay to buy that 50%.
It took me a good six months to adjust to how ARIMIDEX® made me feel. It turns out it did produce fewer hot flashes, but also brought a new bag of tricks to the party. These party tricks seemed excessive to me and still do. I have been counting the days and years until I will be done with the five year commitment. The end goal actually meshes with my completion of grad school. I liked the idea of "bundling" my misery and having a lot to celebrate down the road. Freedom from ARIMIDEX® and the constant crush of grad school homework are the carrots I dangle, replacing previously more picturesque "happy places." That is why I started to cry, when at my most recent visit to the oncologist, I was informed that research may recommend TEN freakin' years of ARIMIDEX® instead of five. God, help me! I don't know if I can feel like shit for six more years. Oh, sure, feeling like shit is better than being dead, blah, blah, blah, but the fact that I am tempted to derail the ARIMIDEX® train, scares me. How will I live with myself if I am not "tough enough" to handle an altered quality of life, only to have cancer return and claim me? I mean, after all, I already have the Wrangler® "Tough Enough to Wear Pink" baseball cap. Will I have to turn it in?
Let me introduce you to the chemical structure of ARIMIDEX®. This dyslexic (seriously, look at the twinset of molecules at the base...looks like it is having some kind of inner battle and can't make up its mind) little bastard is responsible for completing my total "de-feminization."
Being "de-feminized" originally began with bilateral mastectomies (January 2010), and, no, reconstruction would not solve the core issue here. As a sister survivor once said to me regarding reconstructed breasts, "Their not the ones God gave ya!" For women who need to have the breasts for appearance in clothing and to have an intact feminine figure for essential body image issues, reconstruction fits the bill. For me however, I want real breasts, ones that are not numb and useless in the bedroom. I don't want implants that try to slip out from under my pectoral muscles or that hurt when I sleep on my side. I don't want to feel like I always have pressure on my chest. I don't want to swap them out in eight to ten years due to encapsulization or leakage. I don't want to have a surgeon move belly fat up into my chest and shape it like playdough, leaving new areas of numbness from the donor site. I just want my real breasts back, and since that is not possible, I am not going to "settle" and go to the prom with someone I don't like, simply so I can go. And, please don't get me started on wearing prosthetic breasts. What a complete and utter debacle they turned out to be.
Now, I will "vent" about my experience on ARIMIDEX®. No one reads this blog anyway.
Make no mistake about it, there are still hot flashes. In addition to hot flashes during the day, the night hot flashes cost me an easy 60 minutes of sleep on average at night. And no, it is not as simple as going to bed 60 minutes earlier as a solution. Now, I operate on a baseline of fatigue and general achiness. Every day I am strategizing how to fit a nap in somewhere, anywhere. I don't remember what it was ever like to feel "normal." The "new normal" sucks. I would rather nap than exercise and have gained a TON of weight, which only exacerbates the scenario. My girl parts are so deprived of estrogen, that they do not even look like real girl parts. The labia are shriveled, ghostly pale and wholely unattractive. The exterior tissue beside the labia is very tender and can split when there is any activity in the region. This is not something lubricant helps. It is not uncommon for the external tissue to be tender with wiping. The internal vaginal environment has gone complete Gobi desert on me (yes, lubricant does help with that, but reaching for the tube does not help with the mood). Sounds pretty sexy, huh? Oh, baby, all this really helps me feel sexy too.
So, what does this leave me to offer my husband...a weird form of female eunuch? Of course he never says a discouraging word, never complains or comments on my weight, never points out that I am generally no fun anymore. Upon my probing and general mistrust, he says and does all the right things: "I am happy the way things are," and "I am just glad you are here and healthy." Now, I am considering concubines and/or sister wives for his next birthday. What else can I do? I can only compensate with so much gourmet cooking. I surely cannot deliver "the goods." They've been stripped away like a car that has been thoroughly "parted out," leaving a shell that is not even an echo of itself.
This is my reality on ARIMIDEX®. It sucks. Hopefully, it will help save my life. It sucks. Oh, wait, I mentioned that already. My heart goes out to all of my "sisters" who are soldiering on with the seemingly innocuous, little, white pill.




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