Today I celebrate 11 years of being cancer-free! It's hard to believe it's been this long already. Time has flown on occasion and gone extremely slow sometimes. I haven't thought about cancer much over these past few years but at the beginning, right after I was first diagnosed, cancer consumed me. I couldn't think about anything else. I'm so thankful to finally be able to say I've lived well over the 5-year mark that most doctors and cancer treatment centers hold out for. For some reason it seems to be the magic number. I never have understood that.
On my last visit to see the oncologist, she said, "Next year we'll move you into the survivorship program." I wanted to ask why. I've been coming to this cancer treatment center or about 10 years. It didn't make sense.
No matter what they say, I'm believing in my heart that I'm completely cure of cancer and I will never face it again. My faith has carried me through all of these years post-diagnosis. Without it I wouldn't have made it this far. So next year when I go to the cancer treatment center for my tests, I'll go through the rigmarole and wait to see if everything is all good. Then I'll laugh inside as they move me into the survivorship program. It's just a formality for them but for me, it's a milestone.
Everyday post-diagnosis is a day for celebration. Life is so precious. We should celebrate it more than we do. We are so blessed.
This morning was my annual visit to the oncologist. For the past week, I've been dreading it and no matter how hard I tried to think positively, it seemed the louder the devil's whispers became - "So what if you've been cancer free for 11 years. You don't know if it won't ever come back again. When you least expect it, it could pop back into your life." And then I could almost hear an evil laughter in the background. I knew those were only lies of the enemy. I was a child of God and I trusted Him to keep me in the palm of His hands no matter what. If He chose to let cancer back into my life, He'd equip me to fight it. If He choose to keep me cancer free for the rest of my life, then I would continually thank and praise Him for His goodness and mercy. Either way, I had to have faith and I had to have hope.
My appointment was at 10:00 AM but I woke at 5:00 AM. I was nervous. Every time I've gone in in the past, I've felt pretty certain I was going to get good results on my CA19 and CA125 blood work. (Those are tests that are specific to cancer antigens in the blood.) And so far, I've been right. So why was I so nervous this time? Maybe it was because of something that popped up in my Facebook feed the other day. It was a photo and reminder of a friend of mine who'd lived 22 years cancer free and then suddenly her cancer returned and took her life. Experiencing that with her helped me see one was never truly free from a fear of recurrence.
Bonnie Ferguson, my friend
After rising, I grabbed my ear buds and pulled up an audio book I'd borrowed from the library. Lying back down in bed, I lay listening to the story as I tried to still my mind. After a couple of hours, I decided to get up and have some coffee. I needed the energy boost. When I'd finished the last drop, I told my husband I was going to get dressed and ready for the appointment.
As I put on my makeup, I couldn't help looking in the mirror and thinking, "What would I do if they said my numbers were high? How would I react? Would I agree to take chemo this time?" The thoughts kept coming as I worked. Feeling overly anxious, I ate an Ashwaghanda gummy. (Ashwaghanda is a plant that belongs to the ginseng family is is often used in Ayurvedic medicine to help relieve stress. Several years ago, the integrative health doctor at the cancer center recommended it to me and it's helped greatly when I've felt overly anxious.)
We drove to the cancer center and found the parking lot packed. City of Hope Atlanta is always full because it's one of 5 such cancer treatment centers in the US and ours serves the Southeast region of the US. Patients come from many states and some even stay for weeks or months at at time in nearby hotels or in the RV lot on the back of the property. Finally, after several laps around the lot, we found a car pulling out and were able to take their space. Hesitantly, I got out of the car and walked to the front of the building. I was so thankful to have my husband's strong hand holding mine. Knowing he was there to offer moral support meant everything to me.
After registration and lab work, I headed to the Peach Clinic where I'd meet my new oncologist. This would be the 5th one I'd seen in 11 years. The others had either left the practice or had transferred to another facility. I'd prayed and asked God to help me find the right one after my last visit and He pointed me to Dr. Radovich, a woman doctor who'd been working in oncology for over 20 years.
I was called back and placed in an exam room. Shortly thereafter, the doctor and a scribe came into the room. The doctor introduced herself to my husband and I, then got down to business. She went over my medical history, lab results, and did a physical exam. When she was done, she said everything looked great and smiled a great big smile. I told her how thankful I was to have found her and I appreciated her kindness. That's when she said something that surprised me - "You won't see me but another year." She could tell I was surprised and then she said, "You won't see me but one more time because next year you'll move in to the survivorship program!" I let out a big sigh of relief and then started laughing. The doctor rolled over to me on her little doctor's stool. Sitting beside me she looked deep into my eyes and said, "Do you believe in God?" I was so shocked by her question. I'd never had a doctor ask me that before. I assured her I did and then she really blew me away when she said, "Can I pray for you?"
Taking both of my hands in hers, she said the sweetest prayer over me. She prayed for my health, my peace, and for my upcoming knee replacement surgery to go well. She asked God to bring me comfort and calm my anxious heart. She overwhelmed me with the tenderness and sincerity of her words. As she came to a close, tears streamed down my face. I had received such an unexpected blessing I could hardly contain my emotions.
Still holding my hands, the doctor looked at me and smiled. I told her that was the first time in my life I'd ever had a doctor pray over me and she said, "I'm sure some of them have prayed for you in the past, they just never spoke the words out loud for you to hear. I learned a long time ago that my patients needed me to pray for them and they needed to hear the words spoken over them." I thanked her over and over again before she left the room and told me she'd see me next year.
When we left the building, I felt like I was floating. Not only had my blood work come back okay, but my day had turned out so differently than expected. Closing the car door, I offered up a breath prayer for Dr. Radovich and for God's goodness to me.
Cancer has been a life altering event in my life but thankfully, God has chosen to let me continue to live and share my story with others. I've had faithful prayer warriors standing in the gap for me before, during, and after most of my medical exams, tests, and surgeries and I'm extremely grateful for all of them but I must say, having a doctor pray aloud for me was one of the best gifts I've had since diagnosis. I'll never forget this day or how a believing physician made a huge impact on my life.
If I could kill something I would and that something would be cancer. I hate it with my entire being, especially when I learn, day after day, another friend has either been diagnosed with cancer or has found out a family member has been diagnosed.
In my office, I have a whiteboard where I keep a list of prayer concerns. Daily I watch the concerns grow as I add one after another after another name and different type of cancer. Currently, I have 15 names on that board and that's just those who've shared their news with me since January of this year! It makes me physically ill every time I get a call, text, or email with a plea for prayer. Sometimes I'm so overwhelmed I want to run away and never come back.
I've cried so many tears, I could never count them but I know God holds them all in a bottle because the Bible tells me He does. That makes me think He considers each one priceless, but tears don't fix the problem, they only relieve a little of my stress and soothe the cracks in my heart that have formed with each painful notification.
I don't understand why I'm still here, after 11 years, and so many of my friends are not. I don't understand why my cancer seems to be dormant or perhaps completely cured, and theirs rage out of control.
When I get to heaven, I'm going to have to sit down with God and ask all these questions. He may or may not give me the answers but I'm hoping He will. And if He doesn't, I pray He'll give me peace to accept the things He's allowed, because right now, I don't have it.
We were barely through with the first week of the New Year
when the weather began to get ugly. Listening to weather reports, we were
shocked to find we were in for the first snowfall of the year. In the South, we
don’t get snow often so when weathermen say, “Get ready!” we do.
We bought a load of firewood, gathered oil lamps and oil,
made sure we had some charcoal on hand in case our power went out and we needed
a cooking source. Over the years, we’ve weathered several ice storms and even a
blizzard or two. Though those aren’t regular occurrences in our area, they do
come and when they do, people act crazy. They run to the store for bread and
milk. They gas up their cars, just in case, and like us, many of them hunker down
until the nasty, cold weather passes. But when it only snows here, it’s
beautiful! Looking out the window at our yard covered in white is so peaceful
and serene.
We weren’t expecting much snow, only a dusting, but instead
we were surprised to get about 5 inches! Grabbing my coat, hat, gloves, and
cell phone I practically shoved my husband outside to get a photo, but just as
I was about to open the door, I realized my hair was a disheveled mess. I’d
taken a shower the night before but had bed head hair and that wouldn’t make
for a good photo. Rushing into my closet, I pulled down a pink box. Inside it
was a beautiful, natural hair wig I’d purchased right after learning of my
cancer diagnosis. From talking with other breast cancer survivors, I knew, with
my stage and grade of cancer, I’d probably be going through chemotherapy and
more than likely would lose my hair. I could hardly imagine what I’d look like
without hair but knew it wouldn’t be pretty. So, I bought the wig. But I never
used it.
After my initial diagnosis, I did a ton of research on treatment
options – both traditional and non-traditional. I didn’t want to subject my
body to more trauma than was necessary, so I spent a lot of time deciding what
I was willing to do. After I’d made my decision, I shared it with my
oncologist. He wasn’t very pleased with my decision, but that didn’t matter to
me. I had to do what I thought best, after all, it was my body.
I shook out the wig and affixed it to the top of my head as
best I could. Since I’d never worn it before, I wasn’t quite sure how to make
it stay in place but kept it semi straight by plopping a knitted cap on top of
it. My husband had already gone outside and was waiting for me. We’d planned a
photo in front of our new house and the backdrop of the winter scene was
perfect. Placing my cell phone into the selfie stick, I took several shots and
then we were so cold, we ran back inside.
As I got ready to remove my winter attire, my husband said,
“Is that a wig?” I laughed and replied in the affirmative. He asked where I got
it and when, so I told him. He nodded and told me it looked nice.
I went into the bathroom to remove the wig and brush my real
hair. Gently, I placed the wig back in its box for safekeeping and as I did, I
was overcome with emotion. I was grateful I’d never needed the wig while
undergoing treatment but knew several friends who’d opted for chemo and had
either chosen to go bald or use head wraps. A couple of them had quite a
collection of wigs and would wear them often, but some of them looked so fake I
didn’t know how they did it.
Putting the wig box up on the shelf in my closet, I noticed
my prostheses. I kept them in their storage boxes when I wasn’t using them.
Another wave of emotion hit. I couldn’t help but remember when I’d first gone
for a fitting for breast forms. I was utterly embarrassed and even a little
ashamed. When I got home from that first appointment, I cried and cried. First,
I was angry that breast cancer had entered my body and then, I mourned the loss
of my breasts. They were part of me and though they’d never been large, I liked
them. To me, they were my femininity.
It took a few minutes to collect myself and that’s when I
realized how far I’d come since those first days, weeks, and months after
diagnosis. I’d gone through a range of emotions and had finally come to a place
of acceptance. Facing reality has taken a long time and if I’m honest, there
are still some difficult days for me.
Breast cancer is not only a physical journey but an
emotional one. My first thoughts, after hearing I had cancer, were those of
fear and trepidation. I had no idea how things would go as I began treatment. I
felt so unsure of my future. The next emotion was frustration as I did my best
to make myself look normal. Without breasts, I often felt like a fake and a
failure. I was so hard on myself thinking I should be stronger than I was. It
was difficult to process all the ways cancer was changing my life, but over
time, I think I’ve gotten to the point of being able to say I’ve finally made
peace with the situation.
That wig will stay in my closet until I choose to bring it
out again. It’s a beautiful one – a silvery gray shoulder length bob with
bangs. It definitely is thicker than my thin hair and does make me look a few
years younger than I actually do.
It might be nice to use the wig for special occasions. I
should have worn it for my youngest daughter’s wedding last year, but I’d
forgotten all about it. I’m sure I would have looked 100% better in the
professional photos if I’d had it on, but they pictures turned out nice anyway.
Coping with emotions before, during, and after breast cancer
are challenging. People deal with emotional turmoil in different ways. What I
learned is that I had to take one emotion at a time and work through it. As I
did, I realized many things about myself – that I was resilient, strong,
determined, and eventually optimistic about my future.
Wearing the wig outside for the snow photo this morning was
fun! None of the neighbors were out so they didn’t know I was wearing a wig
under my hat. What I should have done is grab both the wig and the hat and
thrown them into the air at the same time with an expression of glee on my face
(just like Mary Tyler Moore used to do at the beginning of her television show
-although she only threw a hat, not a wig.) And after tossing those into the
air, I should have plopped down in the snow and made a snow angel. I haven’t
done that since I was a kid, but I was afraid I’d managed to get down there I
might not have been able to get back up. I’m a whole lot older now and my bones
and joints don’t always want to do what I tell them to do.
A diagnosis of breast cancer is traumatic, challenging,
frightening, and often unexpected. There’s no real way to prepare for a
possible “what if” so I’d like to give one piece of advice as an 11-year
survivor – give yourself grace. That’s the only way I’ve managed to get through
each day. And it’s important to do things your way. If you want to buy a wig,
do it! If you don’t, don’t. It’s okay. It really is okay.
It's almost the end of September, can you believe it? I can't. I'm already bracing for impact. This is the time of year I hate most, not the end of September per se, but the beginning of October. Why do I hate October, well, it's because this will be my 10th Pinktober.
Pinktober is a phrase that was coined when the Susan G. Komen Foundation made pink ribbons their world famous logo. The ribbon was chosen to represent the founder's beloved sister who passed away from breast cancer. I'll have to admit, Pinktober is a cute name for Breast Cancer Awareness Month, but I don't like pink.
When I was a little girl, my Mom wanted to dress me up in frilly pink dresses, but I hated them. I wasn't a girly girl. I was a bonafide tomboy. Pink reminded me of Pepto Bismal and that over the counter medication always made me think of illness. Whenever I had a stomach ache, that was the go to remedy. To this day, I hate the color of Pepto Bismal.
I don't know why I have such an aversion to pink. It's probably because, in my mind, pink represents femininity and I've never felt very feminine.
When most girls my age were watching their bosoms develop into those of young women, I remained flat as a board. When they wanted to play dress up or play with dolls, I wanted to be outside climbing trees. I always felt like there was something wrong with me. I didn't fit the mold of what a little girl should be - all dainty and cute. I was more of a ripped jeans and t shirt kind of girl. I was the one with unkempt hair and dirty under my nails. And speaking of nails, to this day I don't get manicures or pedicures. To me they're a waste of time.
This past weekend, my husband and I came home from a week long vacation. My son had invited us to join him in the mountains. He has a timeshare in North Carolina and knows how much getting out in nature means to me. We agreed to meet him at work and pick him up so we could travel together. It was going to be a great time of rest and relaxation. We were looking forward to it.
One day, we decided to go hiking. There were several waterfalls nearby. We loaded up the car and headed out. It was a gloriously beautiful day. The sun was shining and it was a mild 72 degrees. When we got out of the car and headed for the trail, I noticed my son was wearing a t shirt his company designed for breast cancer awareness. Across the back of his shirt was the name of his company, beneath that was an American flag with a bright pink breast cancer ribbon on the far right. Beneath that were the words "What's Important Now." The W, I, and N were also in bright pink. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, my son had worn that shirt to let me know he loved and cared about me. It was special to see he and his company wanted to be part of sharing the importance of breast cancer with others.
Pink breast cancer ribbons are on almost everything now, not just during the month of October, but that's when they're a little more visible.
I have to say, before my own diagnosis, I rarely paid attention to the pink ribbons. The first year after diagnosis, I wanted everything I saw that had a breast cancer ribbon on it. I purchased hats, t shirts, purses, tennis shoes, you name it, I had it. Now, I don't want a thing with a pink ribbon on it. I guess you could say, after 10 years of being submerged in a sea of pink, I'm over it. At first I swam hard in that sea. A few years later, I relaxed and floated lazily along. Now I'm treading water wondering, if one day, I'll be thrust into the sea of pink again.
I don't like pink, as previously stated, and I especially don't like pink ribbons. Yes, they are a good thing in many ways - they make people stop and think about breast cancer or perhaps, remind them of someone dear they've loved and lost to the disease. Whatever the case, as I said in an article I wrote back in 2018, "One thing is for sure, that little pink ribbon is a symbol known all over the world. No words need to be spoken. The meaning is clear. Breast cancer can affect men, women, and even children. It touches the lives of all races and religions. Breast cancer is nasty business and changes lives forever. And if we can make sure people understand that, while offering information on prevention and care, then I say, Brace yourself, the tide is rising, the water is gathering at your feet."
Pink makes you think, especially when it colors that famous ribbon. I pray this year, as you see them pop up, they'll remind you of two things:
1. The importance of breast self exams and regular mammograms.
2. Not to forget that breast cancer isn't a respecter of persons. It can strike anywhere, anytime and may affect someone you love.
Have you ever had a movie line pop into your head at the most random time? I have. It happens often, especially since 2 of my kiddos love to watch movies and memorize lines.
The day before yesterday, after a very uncomfortable situation, I had a line from the hilarious comedy, "Major Payne," pop into my head - "Who's the dummy now?" And that line was absolutely appropriate for what happened.
It was hot and when I say hot, think inferno, then add some major humidity top of it. My husband and I had been out working in the yard and had both come in red faced and drenched with sweat. I had the bright idea to cool down using a frozen gel pack. They don't really freeze all the way because of something they put in them (I'm not sure if it's alcohol or what, but it allows them to remain pliable.)
I unbuttoned my shirt and placed the ice pack on my upper chest, just above my stomach. Right after doing it, I wondered why I couldn't feel the coolness from the ice pack. Normally, they're extremely cold and I have to use a thin towel to protect my skin from the icy temps. "Oh, well," I thought as I leaned back in my recliner to enjoy a cold drink.
I started reading a book and forgot all about having the ice pack on. About thirty minutes later, I remembered and took it off.
When it was time for bed, I noticed a big red blob on my chest as I was changing into my pjs. Yikes! That's when I realized what I'd done.
When I had surgery for breast cancer, they sliced me clear across my chest cutting through muscles and nerves. The doc told me I'd probably be numb in that area for years and years, possible for the rest of my life, and to be careful.
Still feeling no pain, I went to bed but was awakened in the wee hours of the morning hurting. Walking into the bathroom, I lifted my shirt and looked. Huge, ugly blisters had formed on my chest. I had freezer burned my skin!
Who's the dummy now? It was definitely me! I should have thought to put a thin cloth between my skin and the ice pack. I didn't understand how I could be hurting now though. If I hadn't felt the cold from the pack, how was I feeling pain from the burn?
My youngest daughter helped me figure it out. She said, "Mom, the nerves in your chest muscles were severed, but your skin (the epidermal layer) was still in tack. That's why you can feel the pain now." Great!!
Digging through some beach stuff, I found a bottle of Aloe Vera and slathered in on my chest. Now I not only had a hideous scar but on top of that a red blobby burn with blisters and now, green tinted Aloe Vera gel. What a mess...
Google says a dummy is a stupid or foolish person, a person lacking intelligence and I'd have to agree. How could I be so dumb?
It's been 10 years since I had surgery. I guess I'd all but forgotten about my chest trauma. I won't be doing that again! I can't fathom forgetting something like that, but I guess it's a good thing?!? Breast cancer has taken up so much of my life for the past decade. Finally, I've come to terms with all of it and have been living my life as normally as possible.
Dummy, dummy, dummy! Yep that's me. And I'm the one who'll be suffering for it until this burn heals up.
Note to self: Do not, I repeat, do not ever put an ice pack on your skin again without using a layer of protection.
Today's been a rough day for multiple reasons. Not only have I been struggling with some health issues, I've also been second guessing myself on some recent decisions.
It's also been an emotional day as I'm missing my brother. He went to be with the Lord 3 years ago today.
Needless to say, Satan has taken advantage of my vulnerability. I'm well aware of his tactics. Over the past 60 years, I've learned my adversary quite well. But that doesn't make it any easier when my guard is down and my armor on the shelf.
Normally, I'm in a good place. I know all the things to do and usually do them, but sometimes, I fall. I'm only human. It's during those times of weakness I could use a friend and more often than not, God always shows up by prompting one of them to reach out via call, text, or snail mail. Today was one such day.
There are those that don't believe in God's perfect timing, but I do. I can't tell you how many times I've been nudged by the Holy Spirit to send out a card or letter. When those little pushes come, I act. Once again, I've learned over the years, my response is often part of God's blessing to someone else.
I did a spiritual gifts test a long time ago and found out that I have the gifts of mercy, discernment, and encouragement. Those are complicated gifts, especially mercy, but that's a post for another time. Of all three, I'd have to say my favorite is the gift of encouragement. Not only do I have the honor of blessing others, the blessings I put forth always come back to me in one form of another.
A couple of weeks ago, I felt led to reach out to a person I've never met. We connected through the cancer magazine I do freelance writing for and instantly hit it off. Though she lives in one state and I another, we used social media to correspond. Not only is she a breast cancer survivor, too, she's a believer which makes it even more special.
The Holy Spirit must have prompted her to do a little ministry several days ago because today, right when I needed it, a beautiful card came in the mail for me. This sister in Christ had taken time to send me a word of encouragement.
Now I'm not used to being the recipient! I'm always the sender, so that's taken some getting used to, but I like it.
As I read her note, I smiled. It was brief but filled with love. Not only did she include kind words, she also slipped in one of my favorite scripture verses, Romans 8:28 "We know that in everything God works for the good of those who love Him."
When I'd finished reading the card, I thanked God for this timely little blessing. That's when I noticed, on the back of the card she'd written Ps. 121 over her address label. How perfect! Another of my favs!
God knew I was going to need that card and those specific verses today. If my friend hadn't listened to the Holy Spirit, I would've missed the much needed encouragement.
Isn't it wonderful how our Heavenly Father loves us so much? He cares about every tiny detail of our lives. That's why it's so important that we pay heed to the Holy Spirit. We are the hands and feet of Jesus. We can do the little things that help remind others of His great love. What an honor!
"But encourage one another daily, as long as it is called “Today,” so
that none of you may be hardened by sin’s deceitfulness." Hebrews 3:13
It's a sad day. I'd just recently posted on Cure Magazine about my happiness over celebrating my 10th cancerversary and then today, I read the news about another young woman passing away from breast cancer.
I never was a huge fan of 90210, a TV drama about high school, but know many were familiar with actress,Shannen Doherty and enjoyed her character on the show. Even so, I'd seen it a few times and knew what it was about. If I'd been younger when it came out, I probably would have enjoyed it more.
Just 3 days after I celebrated 10 years of survival from breast cancer, Shannen lost her life. She was 53. I'm almost 67. It doesn't seem quite fair.
She was first diagnosed with breast cancer in 2015, but she went into remission two years later. That reprieve wouldn’t last.Soon the cancer had spread to her lymph nodes, her brain, and her bones.
It's hard to explain how survivors feel when we learn of another's death to cancer. Our hearts grieve desperately and we often wonder why we've managed to survive while others haven't been as blessed.
Please keep her family in your prayers. And pray for those of us who are still in the process of surviving. We always struggle with a fear of recurrence, which could invade our lives at any time.
This morning I woke up at 3:00 A.M. As I crawled out of bed, I remembered today was a milestone for me. 10 years ago, on June 5, I was diagnosed with stage 2B invasive ductal carcinoma breast cancer. On July 9, 10 years ago, I gave the surgeon permission to remove that cancer from my body. I had no idea what I was doing. All I could go on was her wisdom and expertise. Though I hadn't known her long, I trusted her.
I'd been referred to Dr. Sroka after visiting a local OB/GYN. I'd visited that doc to confirm what I already knew in my heart - that I had cancer. I'm so thankful she sent me to Dr. Sroka. I'd never met a doctor like her before.
At my first visit with Dr. S, I had to wait almost an hour for her to come into the room. When she came in, she apologized profusely and told me, even though it was 5:00 P.M., she was going to give me all the time I needed and deserved.I was impressed.
She sat with me for over 2 hours going over the type cancer I had, how and where it was located in my body, and what her plan was to help me live as long as possible. I listened carefully as she presented options and knew I'd need to pick the most drastic one if I wanted to live. Before seeing the OB/GYN, I'd done my research.
I chose bilateral mastectomies. It would be the best way to get rid of all the cancer, but as Dr. S explained, I wouldn't know how extensive the cancer had spread until my lymph nodes were tested, too. She ended up taking out 6. 4 in the right arm and 2 in the left.
She recommended I do chemotherapy, radiation, and antihormone therapy but said it was all up to me. I had to decide what was best for my body.
Everyone I'd ever known who'd done chemo didn't fare well and had ultimately either died or suffered terribly for the rest of their lives with one complication or another from the treatment. I didn't want to go through that so I opted out but did agree to the radiation.
I went through 28 rounds of radiation. They had originally planned for me to do 33 with 2 extra "BOOST SESSIONS." Halfway through treatment, I was severely burned on the right side of my chest, neck, and had damage to my lung so the radiologist made me stop for several weeks. At that time, I became extremely fatigued. I found out, when I returned for my sessions, that was normal.
I could go on and on about those early days of treatment, how I felt, what I experienced, etc., but I won't. First of all, I don't want to relive it and second, it would take days to complete this post so I'll return to my thoughts at 3:00 A.M. this morning.
As I fumbled through our dark bedroom toward the bathroom, I thanked God for the beautiful gift of this day. He didn't have to give me another day of life, but I was so grateful He had.
When I got back in bed, I lay there thinking. I realized there had been many things I'd taken for granted over the past 10 years and many things I'd missed. I promised God I'd never take another day for granted again. I'd be thankful for each sunrise and sunset. I'd celebrate everything in between.
I still don't know why He's allowed me to live this long post diagnosis, but I'm very, very thankful. I still have issues that remind me of all I went through back then. I have lymphedema in both arms which causes swelling, heaviness, and uncomfortableness. The anterior of my right lung is damaged from radiation causing major problems when I get an upper respiratory infection, I still deal with body image issues, and a host of other maladies, but those are small in the grand scheme of things.
If I'd known back then what I know now, I think I'd have still made the same decisions regarding treatment. I may have opted for post surgical reconstruction, but I may not have.
Through the past 10 years, I will say I know what's gotten me through each day - my faith. Without it, I wouldn't have survived this long. I don't know how people survive cancer or any debilitating disease without Jesus. And I'm so thankful He's never tired of listening to my complaints, my heartbreaks, my sadness, my despair, and my confusion over His choice to let me go through this huge trial.
All I can say is I know He handpicked cancer for me and if He picked it, how can I dispute His choice knowing that He uses ALL things together for my good? (Romans 8:28 says "All things work together for good to those who love Him and are called according to His purposes.")
I'm alive and I'm thankful. For the rest of my life, I'll be praising Him and telling about His great mercy and grace toward me. I'm still working on learning to thrive. It's hard but I'm taking it one day at a time. I think He understands and appreciates my efforts. Here's to starting year 11! And who knows how many He'll give me after that! A cancer diagnosis isn't necessarily a death sentence and I'm proof of that!
It's hard to believe that on July 9th of this year, I'll celebrate a decade of being cancer free! Wow!
I still don't understand why God has allowed me to survive this long without a recurrence, but I'm thankful.
As I read back through my old blog posts, I'm thrust back into the thick of things when cancer was new to me and I was more scared than I care to admit. But that's a good thing too, I think. It's important to remember.
I'm so glad I write things down. Now that I'm older, my memory isn't as sharp as it once was. Oh, I can remember things that happened 50 or 60 years ago with no problem, but remembering what I had for lunch yesterday - I have to really try hard to think and remember that.
For the past 10 years, cancer consumed my life. Now, I feel like I can put it behind me. Believe me, I'm not naive. I have a friend, also named Bonnie, who was diagnosed with cancer about 25 years ago. She was cancer free for about 22 years and then, it came back with a vengeance and took her life.
While I know cancer could come back into my life again one day, I'm praying it doesn't. It's nasty business and I don't ever want to deal with it again.
I didn't realize, until this year, how much power I'd given cancer over my life. Every time I had a medical issue, I assumed the cancer was rearing its ugly head again and was about to pay me a surprise visit. That fear of recurrence manifested itself into chronic insomnia, PTSD, and anxiety. Each of those were tough to overcome and truth be told, I still struggle with all of them in some form or fashion.
I've found some things that help though like CBD gummies or tinctures for PTSD, art therapy has helped with anxiety, and my doc has given me a prescription to help with insomnia. I never thought I'd need help with those things, but I did and still do. It's not something I'm ashamed of, it's just a byproduct of cancer trauma. And it's okay to do whatever necessary to battle them so I can live a semi normal and productive life.
Many people have no clue how cancer affects a person's mental and emotional health. They can often see physical effects of the disease, but it's not as easy for outsiders to see or understand the other sides.
Some survivors of cancer are starting to realize these various side effects are normal. They are learning it's okay to discuss their struggles and admit to dealing with the challenges these side effects bring to their daily lives. As they do, they find others are facing the same things.
Cancer definitely alters a person's life but I've found it's best to look for the ways it's helped me survive instead of focusing on what it took from me.
It has not been an easy road to travel and honestly, I'd never want to do it again. I have realized, over these past 10 years. that I have a good bit of gumption in my soul. The dictionary describes this old Southern term as meaning to have initiative; aggressiveness; or resourcefulness. I think it fits perfectly, don't you?
Cancer survivors need that inner drive to survive. It's doable, but it takes guts and grit to get there.
I heard Messenger ping as the notification came through on
my cell phone. One of my high school friends was reaching out to let me know
she’d received a date for surgery and her treatment plan.
Several weeks before, she’d let me know she’d been diagnosed
with breast cancer. I was sorry to hear it and gave her my sympathies but also
my love and support as I assured her, I’d be with her every step of the way.
She told me what the surgeon had said she’d need not only to
have her breast removed, but also some lymph nodes. My heart went out to her,
though our diagnoses were slightly different, they were very much the same.
I penciled in her surgery date on my calendar and made a
mental note to pray for her that day. I also wanted to check in after surgery
was over, so I circled a day later that week in red. That way I’d be reminded
to call and talk with her.
She told me she’d have 4-5 rounds of radiation and would
then have a port installed for chemotherapy. As I read her words, they were so
matter of fact, I knew, as I read between the lines, she was in shock, the same
as I had been when I received my treatment plan.
I did my best to give her a nutshell version of what to
expect as each aspect of her treatment occurred. I knew she’d appreciate my
sharing personal experiences with her.
After she thanked me and we ended our conversation, I paused
to remember a certain week, almost 10 years ago, when I got the same type of
news. It was an extremely hard day. The whole week I walked around in
disbelief.
I didn’t have anyone to tell me what to expect, though I
wished I did. It would have been so helpful to have known ahead of time what
was coming my way.
I was thankful I was able to give my friend a heads up. And
not only did I do that, I told her she had a right to ask for a second opinion
and could refuse any part of the treatment plan she didn’t feel best suited for
her.
Little things like the message I received can spark memories
of my active time in cancer land. While I’d much rather forget my time there,
I’m also thankful I can use those days to support and inform the newly
diagnosed.
It’s hard to relive time in cancer land. The feelings of
“been there, done that” aren’t ones we enjoy, but those feelings are real and
may pop up when someone we love and care about goes through a similar
situation.
As a good friend, I think it’s important to share openly and
honestly as we remember our own journey, but not to overwhelm someone with
things they don’t need to know.
Greek philosopher, Plato, once said, "Necessity is the mother of
invention." Though I've heard that saying since childhood, I never truly
understood it until I became a teen. That's when I realized if I needed a
solution to a problem, I could usually find a way to fix it. I've employed many
techniques through the years to meet my needs, most of which have involved my
love of crafting.
This morning, as I was unpacking from our recent move, I came across a set
of hand crocheted breast forms. I'd ordered the forms about 9 years ago from an
organization called "Knitted Knockers." The organization was formed
to help survivors of breast cancer and other breast surgeries with free breast
substitutes. Volunteers made the forms by crocheting or knitting breast forms
that could be filled with polyester fiberfill. The forms could be easily
adjusted to fit the recipient's needs by either adding or removing the amount
of fiberfill in each form. It was a wonderful concept, and I really liked the
fact that the volunteers were willing to give their time and energy for such a
worthy cause.
Breast prostheses are very expensive, especially the silicone ones. Even
with insurance, the forms can run hundreds of dollars. When my husband was
working, it wasn't a problem but since he's retired, I've had to become more
cost conscious.
Finding the forms in my drawer was a blessing, but I remembered there had
been a problem with them when I initially ordered them. The polyester fiberfill
was so lightweight, the forms weren't heavy enough to weigh my bra down. That
meant, with any movement, the bra would ride up and the forms wouldn't be in
their proper place. Instead of being on my chest, where they should rightly
reside, they would end up just beneath my collar bone and sometimes, under my
chin!
In the past, I did try to find a way of weighting the forms, so they'd stay
put. But nothing I tried worked well. I tried marbles, I tried birdseed, I
tried Play-Doh stuffed into plastic baggies and tucked beneath the fiberfill.
Besides being uncomfortable against my chest, the forms continued to shift and
move.
But today, I had a new idea.
An older friend had given me a large bag filled with black beans. She'd
received them from a government assistance program for those on fixed incomes.
Since I don't usually cook dried beans, I'd let the bag sit in my pantry for a
couple of years. I figured one day, I'd make the effort to cook them, but never
did. Since they were that old, I assumed they wouldn't be good to cook and eat,
but they might just be good for something else.
Taking the crocheted forms from my bedroom, I went into the kitchen and
removed the fiberfill. It only took a couple of minutes to pull the stuffing
out and pop it into the trashcan. I looked carefully at the forms. They'd been
masterfully crafted and the volunteer who'd made them had even sewn on a small
protective flap that could be tucked into the top of the form to hold in the
contents.
With the flap up, the bag of beans on the counter, and a box of Ziplock
bags, I got busy. I tried to guess how many beans to put in each form to make
them even but also constitute the typical B cup I'd been before surgery to
remove my breasts. It was nearly impossible to do it without a funnel. After
spilling beans all over my kitchen floor, I took a few minutes to think. There
had to be a better way.
I found a small plastic measuring cup that I used for measuring liquid Tylenol
for my grandchildren. I emptied out one form and guestimated how many cups of
beans I'd need. 8 tiny measuring cups seemed about right so I put that exact
amount in the plastic bag, zipped it up, and tucked it in the breast form. Then
I did the same for the other form. Placing a form in each hand, I weighed them
against each other. They felt perfect!
I cleaned up my mess and took the forms into my bedroom. Pulling out a
mastectomy bra, I slid a form in each of the breast pockets. Lifting the bra, I
could tell the weight was sufficient and felt very similar to my silicone
forms.
Slipping the bra on, I fastened the hook and paid attention to how the bra
felt. It didn’t' feel lumpy or uncomfortable. In fact, it felt much more
comfortable than my old silicone forms. Hmm...maybe I was on to
something.
Looking into the top of my pantry, I noticed several other bags of dried
beans. I had green and red lentils, Pinto beans, Navy beans, and Chickpeas.
Maybe the lentils would have been a little better than the black beans, but
since I eat lentils fairly often, I didn't want to waste them on the homemade
boobs, plus, it would have taken much more of the lentils to fill up each
form.
I think my invention is pretty good. The plastic will keep the beans from
sprouting with the heat of my body against them and keep them from escaping
barring bumping into something sharp. The zipper on the bag should hold well,
unless I failed to press it properly when sealing, so I should be good at least
for a few months before I need to do a self-check.
Bean boobs, ha! How funny! Necessity is definitely the mother of invention,
but you could also say survivors find ways of making things work especially
since many things related to cancer are so expensive.
I'm not ashamed to admit I did this. I'm sure there are others out there who
are more inventive than I am. Maybe I'll discover an even better process in the
future, but until then, my pantry will be my go to source. My pantry is
normally full, too. I'm a prepper at heart. But prepping doesn't just revolve
around food, water, and survival items like that. Women who've endured double
mastectomies know we only have two choices - to go flat or to wear prostheses.
I go flat most days, but when I want a little projection, beans work pretty
well. When innovation meets creativity, you never know what might happen!
I'm lax. A slacker. Not really, but it feels good to say I've kind of forgotten about my blog lately and the reason is a fairly good one, I think. Life has been going well and by that I mean pretty normal.
Normal is hard for a person affected by cancer to ever say because once cancer has come into your life, nothing is ever normal again.
On my fridge hangs a schedule of future medical appointments. I'm happy to say there's only one cancer related appointment among that list and that appointment is in March.
How'd that happen???
It seems I've been under constant surveillance for so long and now, I'm on annual watch. It seems like I'm a recently freed prisoner or something. And it feels weird - kind of like the safety net has been pulled out from under me. But, I'm thankful. Very, very thankful.
I can never forget about cancer though. Every time I look in the mirror, I'm reminded of how it changed my life. To this day, almost 10 years post diagnosis, I have no feeling on the right side of my chest. The long incision where they sliced away my breast tissue damaged nerve endings and those haven't rejoined. When I touch my skin there, I can feel a slight pressure, but nothing more. It's an odd feeling.
I've kind of gotten used to being flat chested. At home, I don't wear my boobs because they're cumbersome and irritating. When I go out, I do. Mostly, to help myself fit in. I don't want to be stared at because I'm different. When I wear my prostheses, no one knows I had breast cancer, unless I tell them.
My husband and my family know they may or may not see me with boobs on and they've grown to accept it. But now, my youngest daughter has a new boyfriend and he isn't familiar with my health journey. I've given her permission to tell him about it in hopes he'll understand and accept me with or without my female anatomy. I don't want him to be uncomfortable wondering about me if I don't look feminine, especially when he doesn't know me well enough yet. And when I meet his family one day, I'm hoping they won't know my secret.
It's hard to keep a think like that hidden but I feel it's my right to share or not share.
Sometimes, it feels like this has all been a bad dream.
I made it through Thanksgiving this year without balling my eyes out. In the past, I always cried as I remembered all God has brought me through. I definitely don't take any of that for granted, it's just this year, I'd come to a place of contentment.
Now Christmas is upon us and I can't help but feel nostalgic. As I put up decorations, I think about all the people I've known who are no longer with us. Many of those were friends who fought cancer hard and lost. It breaks my heart to think about their valiant fights, but each of them possessed a bravery I can only hope to mirror one day.
It's nice that cancer isn't my main focus any more. I still can't believe how much territory I gave it those first few years.
There are still some friends who're fighting hard to make it through cancer. Seeing their struggle makes me so sad. I wonder why God has been so gracious to me and yet, they aren't as blessed. I have to remind myself daily, I could be in their position just as easily as they could be in mine.
I never want to take a day for granted.
That's one gift cancer has given me - the gift of gratitude. I used to assume too many things. Now I don't.
One thing I've learned recently is I don't need cancer as a convenient excuse anymore.
Yes, I still experience side effects from radiation - my right lung was damaged and sometimes I struggle to breathe properly. I do get tired more easily than I used to, but that could also be because I'm older now than when first diagnosed. I still have body image issues on the bad days, but usually, I can push through them. Most of all, I'm just glad I'm still around.
I love getting to watch sunrises and sunsets. I love listening to instrumental Christmas classics, I love smelling oranges or cookies fresh from the oven. I love seeing the wrinkles on my husband's face when he smiles a big smile and that twinkle in his eyes when he's happy. I could be missing all those things...
I don't know if cancer will ever rear its ugly head in my life again, I pray not, but if it does, I'll worry about that then. Until that day, I'm moving forward. I'm living my life to the fullest and I'm really glad I can.
Hmm. How can such a little "word" represent such deep thought? And yes, it is a word. Look it up if you don't believe me.
Lately, I've been saying hmm a lot. There are so many things going on in the world that puzzle me. For instance, the fact that conveniently a new strain of the virus is going around and more than likely, new mandates will begin soon. Also, I'm puzzled by the number of people believing the lies of the enemy about who they are and who they're supposed to be. It seems we're living in a really crazy screwed up world.
Also, recent health issues have me muttering hmm a lot. That's one of the reason I haven't been writing my blog lately. There's been a lot going on for the past few months, things I can't control. And that's hard for a person who enjoys being in control.
It seems my innards don't like me much anymore. I've had to have 3 endoscopies done and twice, during those, I've had to have my esophagus stretched. It seems my body doesn't like solid food and won't let it pass down the esophagus as God designed it to do.
The stretching has helped some, especially with the feeling of choking, but it hasn't solved the problem. Now that the food can pass through the esophagus, it doesn't want to go any further. It seems the junction at the base of the esophagus and the stomach are fighting. So my doc has ordered a CT scan of the abdomen. I'll have that test done in a little over a week. Hopefully it will show the problem and the doc can fix it.
I've also been wondering if just maybe the cancer might be back. I don't want to go there, but I'm a realist. It is a possibility.
My brother died of esophageal cancer and we have a history of many types of cancer in our family, so who knows? I pray that isn't the case and I don't know what I'll do if it is.
Gosh! I just remembered. On my last endoscopy, the doc did several biopsies of places he found in my stomach. I haven't gotten the results from those tests back yet. Usually it only takes about 5-7 days for the results to come back. Hmm. I'm hoping no news is good news.
So, that's where things stand for now.
I could use your prayers. And I'm thankful for those of you who take time to do that.
On this day, 9 years ago, my life changed forever. I can remember so well the day I discovered the lump and how it made me feel. I was going about my normal daily routine and suddenly, everything changed. In a split second, I was overcome with fear. I didn’t know if I was going to live or die. It felt like my world was spinning out of control like all balance had shifted.
I went through the motions visiting one -ologist after another. Tests were run and surgeries were done. Things seemed to move at lightning speed and didn’t slow down until I’d completed radiation treatments. That’s when I had time to think. I thought about the past and the present, about all the things I’d done but also all the things I still wanted to do. I reconsidered hopes and dreams. I compiled a bucket list.
I had no idea what the future held but knew I was going to do the best I could to live each day to the fullest. At first, it was a struggle. I wasn’t feeling great. My energy was zapped and I was struggling with a lot of body image issues. I didn’t realize it at the time, but all of those things were normal for someone who’d just experienced a major trauma like breast cancer.
There was no instruction manual. I read all I could. I watched YouTube videos and read online blogs. Everyone’s story was different in many ways but much the same in others. I felt like I’d been thrown into a sea of pink and had to learn to either swim or sink. So I let my will to survive take over. I knew the water was deep and dark. I didn’t want to sink, so I began to tread water. In that vast sea, the struggle lessened as I moved my legs slowly back and forth. I was staying afloat. It felt good.
Days passed, and my broken body began to heal inside and out. I tried to stay active as much as possible. It was a challenge learning to listen to my body. When I was tired I slowed down or stopped. I learned to process my emotions and gave myself permission to feel. I learned it was okay to cry, laugh, scream, or be angry. Sometimes feeling one emotion at a time, and often feeling several at once. 9 years.
Back then, everything was so scary and new. Now, I don’t think about cancer as much. There are annual reminders, like National Cancer Survivors Day and Breast Cancer Awareness Month that always sneak up on me, but I usually make it through unscathed.
Annually, I celebrate my cancerversary on July 9 – the day the cancer was removed from my body, but I also remember June 5 each year, the day the cancer was diagnosed. Both of those days will forever haunt me.
The scars have faded some but I can still see them. When I run my fingers over my chest, I feel the smooth, raised area where my skin was sliced open.
My arms still swell, especially in the summer, from secondary lymphedema, a condition caused by the cancer and removal of lymph nodes in both arms.
All in all, as I reflect on my situation, I can say I’m blessed. Cancer is a great teacher. I’ve learned more valuable life lessons over the past 9 years than I have in my 65 years of life. And since that’s the case, I can honestly say I’m thankful. I’m thankful I was deemed strong enough to handle the trial of breast cancer. I’m thankful I have weathered this extremely unexpected, very difficult storm with dignity and grace. So many of my friends and family have not fared as well.
Today, I look in the mirror and see a breastless woman but I also see a brave, determined, resilient person who will forever be treading water. I don’t waste energy struggling against the tide, I’ve learned to relax and go with the flow.
Right now, I’m cancer free. I hope to continue to be able to say that for many more years to come, no, I want to be able to claim it until the day I die, but who knows? I’m a realist. Cancer could come back again. I have a friend who fought breast cancer and thought she was cancer free for 22 years before that ugly monster reared its ugly head again and took her life. If something like that happens to me, I imagine I’ll be angry at first, but then I’ll accept it and do the best I can. That’s all any of us can do when cancer finds us.
Taking one day at a time, one moment at a time is the only way to make it in the world of pink.
On this day, 9 years ago, my life changed forever. I can
remember so well the day I discovered the lump and how it made me feel. I was
going about my normal daily routine and suddenly, everything changed. In a
split second, I was overcome with fear. I didn’t know if I was going to live or
die. It felt like my world was spinning out of control like all balance had
shifted.
I went through the motions visiting one -ologist after
another. Tests were run and surgeries were done. Things seemed to move at lightning
speed and didn’t slow down until I’d completed radiation treatments. That’s
when I had time to think.
I thought about the past and the present, about all the
things I’d done but also all the things I still wanted to do. I reconsidered
hopes and dreams. I compiled a bucket list.
I had no idea what the future held but knew I was going to
do the best I could to live each day to the fullest.
At first, it was a struggle. I wasn’t feeling great. My
energy was zapped and I was struggling with a lot of body image issues. I
didn’t realize it at the time, but all of those things were normal for someone
who’d just experienced a major trauma like breast cancer.
There was no instruction manual. I read all I could. I
watched YouTube videos and read online blogs. Everyone’s story was different in
many ways but much the same in others.
I felt like I’d been thrown into a sea of pink and had to
learn to either swim or sink. So, I let my will to survive take over. I knew
the water was deep and dark. I didn’t want to sink, so I began to tread water.
In that vast sea, the struggle lessened as I moved my legs slowly back and
forth. I was staying afloat. It felt good.
Days passed, and my broken body began to heal inside and
out. I tried to stay active as much as possible. It was a challenge learning to
listen to my body. When I was tired, I slowed down or stopped.
I learned to process my emotions and gave myself permission
to feel. I learned it was okay to cry, laugh, scream, or be angry. Sometimes
feeling one emotion at a time, and often feeling several at once.
9 years.
Back then, everything was so scary and new. Now, I don’t
think about cancer as much. There are annual reminders, like National Cancer
Survivors Day and Breast Cancer Awareness Month that always sneak up on me, but
I usually make it through unscathed.
Annually, I celebrate my cancerversary on July 9 – the day
the cancer was removed from my body, but I also remember June 5 each year, the
day the cancer was diagnosed. Both of those days will forever haunt me.
The scars have faded some but I can still see them. When I
run my fingers over my chest, I feel the smooth, raised area where my skin was
sliced open.
My arms still swell, especially in the summer, from
secondary lymphedema, a condition caused by the cancer and removal of lymph
nodes in both arms.
All in all, as I reflect on my situation, I can say I’m
blessed. Cancer is a great teacher. I’ve learned more valuable life lessons
over the past 9 years than I have in my 65 years of life. And since that’s the
case, I can honestly say I’m thankful. I’m thankful I was deemed strong enough
to handle the trial of breast cancer. I’m thankful I have weathered this
extremely unexpected, very difficult storm with dignity and grace. So many of
my friends and family have not fared as well.
Today, I look in the mirror and see a breastless woman but I
also see a brave, determined, resilient person who will forever be treading
water. I don’t waste energy struggling against the tide, I’ve learned to relax
and go with the flow.
Me and my number one fan
Right now, I’m cancer free. I hope to continue to be able to
say that for many more years to come, no, I want to be able to claim it until the
day I die, but who knows? I’m a realist. Cancer could come back again. I have a
friend who fought breast cancer and thought she was cancer free for 22 years
before that ugly monster reared its ugly head again and took her life. If
something like that happens to me, I imagine I’ll be angry at first, but then
I’ll accept it and do the best I can. That’s all any of us can do when cancer
finds us.
Taking one day at a time, one moment at a time is the only
way to make it in the world of pink.
For the past nine years, I’ve struggled with waves of
overwhelming fear of cancer recurrence. I knew I had an issue, but until
recently, wasn’t aware of how much fear was affecting my life.
The
fear began to manifest in physical problems. First, I noticed my heart
would race even though I wasn’t exerting myself, so I started seeing a
cardiologist. I’d had problems with hypertension in the past, but this
was something new. After running a slew of tests, the doctor assured me I
was OK and the three medications I was already taking were doing a good
job. He told me not to worry, so I tried my best to heed his advice.
Next,
I began having trouble sleeping. I’d done a lot of reading about aging
and sleep problems, so I wasn’t too concerned, but when I started waking
up exhausted. I knew something wasn’t right. The cardiologist suggested
we do a sleep study, so I agreed to it. The test revealed I had sleep
apnea, so I found a pulmonologist to address that.
I started
having stomach issues and wasn’t able to digest my food well, so my
primary doctor referred me to a gastroenterologist. After several tests,
it was determined I had legitimate concerns. I was afraid I had
esophageal cancer — the cancer that took my brother’s life — but the
doctor assured me he’d do more testing. I endured two endoscopies and a
colonoscopy, and even had my esophagus stretched. While I awaited the
results from those tests, my fear grew.
An enlarged lymph node on
the side of my neck freaked me out. Immediately, I called the oncologist
and set up an appointment. She ordered an ultrasound. When the test was
inconclusive, I panicked. I wasn’t ready to face cancer again. The
doctor ordered a CT scan of my neck and one of my abdomen just to be
sure there was no cancer there. I was thankful she was proactive.
When
I received an email alert through the patient portal of my cancer
treatment center, I just about lost it. Why was the oncologist calling
me in to see her? If it was good news, wouldn’t she have called and told
me? The fear inside reached epic proportions.
I called my husband
at work and asked if he could take a vacation day to accompany me to
the appointment. I didn’t want to face bad news alone. Immediately, he
went to his boss and made the request. I felt a little more at ease
knowing he’d be with me.
The night before the appointment, I
didn’t sleep a wink, even with my CPAP machine. My thoughts were all
over the place. What would I do if I had to face cancer again? I didn’t
think I could do it.
In the morning, as we drove to the cancer
treatment center, my husband held my hand. He talked softly to me and
assured me that whatever the news, he’d be right with me.
After
waiting in the lobby for about thirty minutes, my name was called.
Grasping my husband’s hand, I tugged on it hard as I stood up to follow
the nurse. Together, we walked into the exam room and waited for the
doctor.
I did my best to control my breathing as the nurse took my
vital signs. The nurse asked if my blood pressure was normally high. I
replied, “No.” She turned the screen to reveal my systolic pressure was
157. I told her I guessed I was nervous.
The doctor came in with a
scribe and her medical assistant. She barely greeted us before sitting
down and opening her laptop. I tried to read her body language but
couldn’t. She seemed to be all business.
As she pulled up the
report for the CT scans, she said, “There’s no cancer on your scans, so
you have nothing to worry about. And I see here that that you’re coming
up on nine years being cancer free, so I don’t need to see you but once a
year now, unless you have something that pops up in between time.” She
stood and folded her laptop, then headed toward the door.
“But
wait!” I said anxiously, “Are you sure? This wasn’t what I was
expecting.” She nodded her head and put her hand on the doorknob. As she
turned it, I felt a rush of cool air brush my face.
When she’d
exited the room, I turned to my husband, tears in my eyes, and exhaled.
We were both in shock. Neither of us expected to hear good news
delivered in such a cavalier fashion. Sure, the appointment was probably
the last of the day for the doctor, but gee, didn’t I deserve a high
five or something?
As we left the cancer treatment center, I
suddenly realized I wouldn’t be coming again for an entire year. I had
mixed emotions. On one hand, I was happy to be walking out with good
news, on the other, I wondered how I’d let fear overpower me so easily.
When
I got home, I went into the bathroom and cried. The tears were a
much-needed emotional release. Until that point, I hadn’t realized that
every time I’d felt any kind of physical malady I’d subconsciously
defaulted to “it’s cancer.”
I’m a pretty grounded person, but that
afternoon, I realized I had some unresolved post-traumatic stress to
deal with. I’d thought that I’d done most of that healing work over the
past nine years, but I guess a barb of fear had lodged itself deep in my
spirit.
Fear is a powerful weapon the enemy uses against us. The important thing is to learn to recognize it and disarm it.
If
there was one piece of advice I’d like to give others facing the
overwhelming fear of recurrence, it’s to give yourself grace. We’re only
human. It’s normal to dread a recurrence of cancer, especially when
it's come into your life and done a number on your mental and physical
well-being. Sometimes, it’s necessary to get professional help to
conquer it and there’s no shame in that. But please, don’t let it
control your life like I did.
I once read a powerful quotation by
Emily Freeman I’d like to share with you, “Worry is a thief, fear is a
liar, and anxiety is their trembling, furrow-browed baby.” That sums it
up perfectly. No one deserves to live under that kind of stress.
Nine
years is a long time to deal with the powerful side effect of fear that
cancer brought into my life. So today, I choose to release myself from
it. And if it ever tries to rear its ugly head again, I’m going to lop
it off and scream, “NOT TODAY! I am alive and doing well.” That, my
friends, is my new mantra. I’ve fought too hard to let down my guard
ever again. I am blessed and I’m going to start living like it.
When can I quit cancer? I ask myself that question several times a day. I'm tired of it. For over 9 years I've been dealing with cancer and cancer related items. To say I'm over it would be an understatement.
Yesterday, I spent 4 hours at the cancer treatment center. I'd gone for a "check up." They had me come in for lab work and then I'd had to wait around for an hour so the results could be review by the doctor. Then, I had to wait even longer to see the doc.
When she finally came into the room, I thought, she's going to spend extra time with me since she was over an hour late for my appointment. I don't know where I came up with that idea because it certainly wasn't reality. I don't even think she was in the room with me for 5 minutes!
After looking at my labs and telling me my sodium was low, she quickly looked back at the ultrasound report from my last visit and asked about the enlarged lymph node in my neck they'd scanned. I told her it was still there.
She came over and began to mash around on my neck then went back to her desk and said, "We'll get a CT on that area." When she said it, my mind naturally went to a bad place - did she think the cancer had returned? I didn't get a chance to ask her because she was already heading out the door. Apparently, she'd been overbooked that day and had many more patients to see. I left feeling frustrated and angry.
I snuck this photo in the waiting room
I realize the importance of continual screening and annual oncology appointments are the best way of staying on top of any possible issues, but it sure is getting old.
When the doctor was looking over my labs, I did ask what my tumor marker numbers were. In the past, with my other oncologists, they've always told me my numbers. Dr. S, my new onco, looked at my funny and said, "Oh, we don't normally do those when you've had surgery to remove the cancer." WHAT??? I must have looked at her quizzically because she repeated the statement. That's when I told her, with my family history of all sorts of nasty cancers - lung cancer, esophageal cancer, brain cancer, etc. that I needed to know what my tumor markers were and I expected to have that test run regularly. Thankfully, she heard me because she turned to her scribe and said, "We'll make a note to run the tumor markers at your next visit." Dang.
I toyed with the idea of going back to my other oncologist. At least he gave me the time of day and seemed to be truly interested in my health. This new onco seems overworked and uninterested. It's not a good way to do business, especially in the medical field.
There are many things I liked about the cancer treatment center and many things I do not. I like that everything is contained in one location - all the imaging, chemotherapy, radiation, labs, etc. are in the same huge building. I don't like the fact that this hospital is a regional one and since it is one of 5 facilities nationwide, there are a LOT of patients.
Cancer is a lucrative business, that's for sure, but when the patients suffer because of the business side of it, change needs to happen.
Maybe patients need to start filling out those after visit questionnaires a little more truthfully. I sure do. If they ask how pleased I was with the service I received, I tell them like it is. When they ask how long I had to wait before seeing the doctor, I'm not sugar coating it and when they ask if I'd recommend others to the facility, I don't hem and haw. I state my reasons, both pro and con. I feel like they asked for it, so they're gonna get it.
Rant over. In a nutshell, cancer sucks and I want out.
A brilliant Yellow Swallowtail landed on my leg today as we sat outside on our back patio. It was such a special moment and I was extremely still for fear of interrupting its landing. At first glance, I thought it was a perfect butterfly but as I looked closer, I noticed one of its wings was broken and that made me extremely sad.
I wondered how the wing had been compromised. Had the butterfly brushed against something rough that had caught and torn the wing or had a pair of eager little hands tried to catch it and in desperation of keeping its freedom, the butterfly had sacrificed part of its wing as it got away.
The butterfly stay for several minutes before lifting off and gently soaring on the breeze. As it left, I felt my wounded heart cry out, "You're still broken, too."Though I didn't want to admit it, I knew it was true.
I'd been broken for almost 9 years, since the diagnosis of my breast cancer. Though I'd had months of deep despair, I'd also experienced moments of sheer joy at still being alive and being able to do the things I wanted to do, but I wasn't ever going to be the same again. That realization wounded me deeply.
Today, without realizing he'd done it, my husband said something very hurtful to me. He'd meant it in teasing but the words pierced my heart and made me feel less than. Those words reminded me of my brokenness and I began to sob. When he realized he'd hurt me, he instantly came to my side asking for forgiveness but the words had already accomplished their goal. It was my choice whether or not I would hold on to them or release them.
I wanted to instantly release them but something deep inside cried out. I thought, by now, I was completely over the trauma of breast cancer, but apparently I wasn't. I wondered if I'd ever feel normal again or at least feel worthy of love again.
That butterfly, though it had a broken wing, chose to continue to fly. If it hadn't continued on, it would have died without sustenance. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I had to choose to continue on, too.
I've been trying to learn to thrive for several years now, but it's been hard. The dictionary defines the word thrive in this way: "to prosper, to flourish." I wasn't doing that. I was merely existing. I went from one mundane day to the next trying to fill my time with things to occupy my mind like art projects or writing. When I wasn't doing one of those things, I was cleaning. My house was always immaculate. Though those things kept me busy, they didn't fill my heart with joy. I needed joy.
I realized, along with feeling broken, I was lonely. I had no friends here and all of my family lived at least an hour away. Rarely did I see anyone other than medical staff or my husband. I needed more.
Social media helped a little. As I perused my account, I enjoyed learning what my "long distance" friends were up to. It felt like I had a connection although it wasn't really true.
I'm not the type of person to get down in the dumps often but for the past couple of years I think I've struggled with depression. Oh, it's been mild but it's been there and I haven't liked it one bit.
If I'd been smart, I would have taken my oncologist up on meeting with a cognitive behavioral specialist, but I was too embarrassed to admit my need. I was also afraid of admitting I was struggling with feelings of unworthiness.
My faith in God has been my saving grace. Whenever I've felt smothered in my feelings, He's always been there to remind me who I am and whose I am. Without him, I'm sure I would have already given up. Thankfully, His Word speaks to my heart daily.
I've had to remind myself over and over again that feelings aren't fact. Though I feel broken and less than, I'm still His precious child. And He chose the trial of breast cancer for me. Knowing that gives me peace, not because I was made to suffer through the trauma of having my body maimed, but knowing no matter what, He'd promised never to leave or forsake me.
The butterfly with the broken wing was a special gift. I think God allowed it to land on my leg for a reason- to remind me life is still possible even with a broken body.
I still have a lot of internal healing to do and I'm working on myself daily. I've learned to use positive self talk to help remind me I matter, but more than that, as I've struggled, I've looked for Scriptures that get me back on track.
I doubt if all women who go through breast cancer struggle with body image like I have but many do. It's hard to explain how damaging losing body parts can be to a person's self worth, especially when those body parts are the essence of their femininity.
One day, I'm hoping to see myself healed and whole. Until then, I'll keep on working through things one day at a time. And one day, perhaps I'll fly.
