The Unwanted Houseguests Are Getting Roommates

The Unwanted Houseguests Are Getting Roommates

🌼 Date: Tuesday, June 9, 2026

⚡ Energy: Tired, informed, and side-eyeing the next phase

❤️‍🩹 Status: First oncology visit after treatment

🤨 Outlook: Apparently cancer recovery comes with a sequel, and nobody asked me if I wanted one

Today was my first appointment with my oncologist since finishing all of my treatments.

Chemo is done.

Radiation is done.

Surgery is behind me.

The big treatment calendar has finally slowed down.

So naturally, today we talked about all the side effects that are still hanging around like unwanted houseguests who refuse to leave.

The nausea?

Excuse me, ma’am, you have overstayed your welcome.

The exhaustion and lack of energy?

Wait. Were you even invited?

The neuropathy?

Who did you say you were a friend of again?

The brain fog?

No more couch surfing. Enough already.

Honestly, if side effects were actual houseguests, I would have changed the locks weeks ago.

I would gladly take a massive hangover day spent cleaning up after one great-ass party if it meant I could get rid of all these rude little mooches.

Just give me some Tylenol, a broom, a black garbage bag, and a little bit of rage music, and I would get to work.

Nausea? Out.

Fatigue? Out.

Neuropathy? Out.

Brain fog? Out.

Take your little overnight bags and your emotional damage and get off my couch.

But no.

Apparently it is not that easy.

Instead, it looks like I may need to hire a contractor and add another room onto my body because today we talked about adding even more possible side effects to the house.

Today we talked about hormone blockers.

Cue the dramatic music.

Before I go any further, let me say this clearly:

I am not a doctor.

This is my experience.

This is my body.

This is the research I have done.

Please do your own research and have your own conversations with your own doctors.

No two people are exactly the same, and no two cancers are exactly the same.

The treatment plan my doctors and I decide on is not necessarily the same plan that will be right for someone else.

There are different diagnoses, different risks, different bodies, different side effects, different medical histories, and different levels of what-the-hell-is-this.

PSA over.

Now, I went into today’s visit already knowing that I did not want to do Tamoxifen.

If you are taking Tamoxifen and it is working for you, I am genuinely happy for you.

Truly.

No shade.

No judgment.

No shoe throwing.

My doctors and I had already talked about this back in September, and we knew we would be exploring other options when the time came.

Well, apparently the time has come.

So the plan for now is to start with Lupron.

Lupron is a shot I will get in my bum once a month for three months.

Then, if all goes well, I will switch to a larger dose and go in every three months.

For five years.

Five.

Years.

I’m sorry, did someone say five years?

Because my brain heard “forever with appointment reminders.”

Lupron is a hormone-regulating medication. In my case, we are using it to shut off the signal from my brain to my ovaries so they stop producing estrogen.

Because I had not started menopause yet when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, my ovaries were still the main estrogen factory.

And because my tumors came back estrogen-positive, that means estrogen was basically feeding the cancer.

So now the plan is to cut off the food supply.

No snacks for cancer.

No buffet.

No late-night estrogen drive-thru.

Closed.

Out of business.

Basically, we are tossing my body into a medically induced menopause.

Yes, boys and girls, it is as fun as it sounds.

Which is to say, not fun at all.

Lupron can be used for different hormone-related conditions. It can be used in prostate cancer, endometriosis, uterine fibroids, certain fertility treatments, and in breast cancer when ovarian suppression is needed.

In my case, the mission is simple:

Tell the ovaries to sit down and be quiet.

Now, let’s talk about the possible side effects that may be joining the already annoying houseguests currently living rent-free in my body.

Hot flashes.

Night sweats.

Mood changes.

Reduced sex drive.

Vaginal dryness.

Joint pain.

Swelling.

Headaches.

Fatigue.

Bone density loss.

Possible mental health changes.

And then, because medication warning labels enjoy being terrifying, there are also the scarier things they have to list, like rapid heartbeat, dizziness, feeling faint, chest pain, breathing trouble, high blood sugar, rashes, swollen lymph nodes, severe back pain, weakness, numbness, coordination issues, and the kind of rare-but-serious warnings that make you want to close the pamphlet and stare at the wall.

Like what in the actual name of all things holy?

This is the plan?

This is how we tell cancer not to come back?

We take the body that just went through surgery, chemo, radiation, neuropathy, lymphedema, nausea, fatigue, brain fog, and skin reactions, and say:

Great job surviving. Now let’s throw menopause at you with a syringe.

Cool.

Love that.

Very thoughtful.

I know why we are doing it.

I do.

I understand the logic.

If estrogen feeds the cancer, we cut off estrogen.

If we cut off estrogen, we lower the chance of giving any sneaky little cancer cells the fuel they want.

That makes sense.

The science makes sense.

My emotional support sarcasm is just having a moment.

And honestly, I think I am thankful my body gets three months to adjust to Lupron before we add the second medication.

I just hope three months is long enough.

Because after Lupron comes Anastrozole, also known by the brand name Arimidex.

Alright, Google, show me the next contestant on What Side Effect Are We Adding Today?

Anastrozole is a pill, and I will take it daily.

For seven to ten years.

Seven.

To ten.

Years.

At this point, I feel like I should be getting a punch card.

Take hormone blocker for ten years, get one free nervous breakdown and a complimentary tote bag.

Anastrozole is in a class of drugs called aromatase inhibitors.

Here is the simplified Tina version:

Before menopause, the ovaries make most of the estrogen.

Lupron handles that by shutting the ovaries down.

After menopause, the body can still make estrogen in a different way by converting other hormones, called androgens, into estrogen using an enzyme called aromatase.

Anastrozole blocks aromatase, which lowers the amount of estrogen the body makes.

So if Lupron is telling my ovaries, “The factory is closed,” Anastrozole is standing at the side door saying, “And don’t even think about sneaking estrogen in through another entrance.”

Again, the goal is to starve any estrogen-loving cancer cells.

No food.

No fuel.

No second chances.

That part I like.

The side effects?

Less charming.

Anastrozole can also bring bone loss.

Again with the bones.

As if radiation, chemo, menopause, and my body’s snap-crackle-pop soundtrack were not enough.

It can also cause joint and muscle pain, hot flashes, fatigue, and increased cholesterol.

So basically, it sounds like Lupron and Anastrozole are cousins who show up to the same family reunion carrying matching bags of menopause symptoms and bone-density drama.

Wonderful.

Exactly what I was hoping for.

More of the same fun.

I am trying to stay reasonable about it.

Not everyone gets every side effect.

Some people tolerate these medications well.

Some people have a rough time.

Some people adjust after a while.

Some people need help managing symptoms.

Some people switch medications.

Some people have to have hard conversations with their doctors about quality of life and risk reduction and what they can live with.

And I know I will not know how my body reacts until I start.

That is the maddening part.

You can read all the side effects in the world.

You can research until your eyes cross.

You can ask questions.

You can prepare.

You can stock up on waterproof pillowcases, cooling fans, patience, and sarcasm.

But you do not really know until your body says, “Here is our official response.”

And my body?

She is dramatic.

So I am not exactly expecting a quiet memo.

I am scared.

I am annoyed.

I am grateful.

I am overwhelmed.

All at the same time.

Because that is cancer recovery in a nutshell.

I am grateful there is a plan.

I am grateful there are medications that can help reduce the chance of recurrence.

I am grateful my doctors are looking ahead.

I am grateful to be clear.

I am grateful to still be here.

And I am also tired of my body being a chemistry experiment.

I am tired of side effects.

I am tired of new medications.

I am tired of adding things to manage the things that were added to manage the other things.

I am tired of reading warning labels that sound like a horror movie trailer.

I am tired of having to make decisions where every option comes with a cost.

But this is where we are.

This is the next chapter.

Treatment may be over, but preventing recurrence is still part of the story.

The unwanted houseguests are still here.

And apparently, a couple more may be moving in.

So I guess I will get out the metaphorical air mattress.

But let me be clear:

Nobody is getting comfortable.

We are not decorating.

We are not making space in the closet.

These side effects can visit if they must, but they are not allowed to run the house.

Not without a fight.

For now, the plan is Lupron first.

My first shot is scheduled for Monday, so apparently my ovaries have a few days left to enjoy their freedom before eviction proceedings begin.

Monthly shots for three months.

Then possibly the every-three-month version.

Then Anastrozole after my body has had a chance to adjust.

I will keep asking questions.

I will keep paying attention.

I will keep documenting what happens.

I will keep reminding myself that this is about protecting my future, even when the present feels like a lot.

And as always, I will keep you posted.

Because if my body is going to enter medically induced menopause with a side of hormone blockers, hot flashes, joint pain, bone-density concerns, and whatever else this circus brings, then we are absolutely making content out of it.

Cancer wanted a sequel.

Fine.

But Tina still gets to narrate.

---

Want to follow the journey from the beginning?
Visit Tiny Tina – Status: Alive (Daily Check-Ins) to see the full timeline of posts.

If you’d like to be notified when a new post goes live, you can subscribe below for free and get an email each time I publish a new entry.

💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time