When the fear of cancer recurrence becomes detrimental to health

 

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?

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.

 

Broken

 

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.

One more ultrasound

At my latest oncology appointment, my new oncologist, Dr. Sharma, seemed concerned about the walnut sized lump at my left clavicle. It had been there for months but had seemed to be larger than it was when I first mentioned it to previous oncologist. I was grateful this new doctor was being proactive in ordering a test so quickly. 

When I arrived at the cancer treatment center's imaging department, the room was packed. The only available chair was close to a wall mounted television set and very close to an automatic door. I knew the constant noise from the TV would interrupt my reading but wasn't prepared for the blast of cold air every time the door opened as someone entered. I waited about fifteen minutes and as soon as someone was called back, I got up to move and take their seat. I lucked up and got a seat in a warmer section of the room very close to the receptionist's desk. 

My appointment was scheduled for 9:45 a.m. When 10:30 rolled around and I still hadn't been called back, I wondered if I'd been forgotten. There were so many in the waiting room though and it seemed they were moving slowly so I patiently waited. 

To my left was an older black couple. One seat over from me sat the woman softly humming. As I read, I heard her soothing melody. It wasn't bothersome at all and I was thankful for her low, soft voice. It seemed to calm me as I waited for my test 

A nurse came and sat by the couple. She spoke to the husband about the wife's upcoming procedure. I did my best not to eavesdrop but the nurse wasn't whispering. I kept my eyes glued to my book and tried to read as they talked. I kept going over the same line again and again. The nurse was telling the man that after his wife's lung biopsy they'd have to keep her under surveillance for a couple of hours. He asked questions as to why and the nurse said sometimes, during a lung biopsy, air can get into a patient's lungs and this can be a dangerous situation. The man's voice wavered as he continued to talk with the nurse. A few minutes later,  the nurse was taking the woman with her to the procedure area. 

I sat for a few minutes and didn't say a word. As I did, I felt the Holy Spirit prompting me to tell the man I was going to pray for his wife. I waited a few more minutes for confirmation and the nudge didn't go away, so I leaned over and told the man I wasn't trying to get into their business but I couldn't help overhearing about his wife's biopsy. He looked at me intently and I said, "May I ask your wife's name? I'd like to pray for her." Immediately he said, "Her name is Lynn Morgan." I smiled and told him I would be praying for her and I spoke words of encouragement to him. He thanked me over and over again before leaving to go find a hotel room for the night as the nurse had suggested he do just in case the wife's biopsy was more complicated than they expected. 

After Mr. Morgan left, I began to pray for his wife asking God to be with her and give her strength, to guide the doctor's hands and to protect her from complications. As I prayed, a verses from Isaiah came to mind, "You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord God is an everlasting rock." (Isaiah 26:3-4) I know God brought those verses to mind for not only Mrs. Morgan, but also for me. 

It wasn't long before I was being called back. I lay on the exam table as the radiology tech warmed up the gel. After asking me to show her the exact location of the lump, she took the transducer and began going over and over my left clavicle. As she pressed the wand down on the lump, it hurt. I kept my eyes on the ceiling tiles instead of looking at the ultrasound machine as I did in 2014 when I was first diagnosed. The ceiling tiles in the room were illuminated with a beautiful spring scene. I remembered that view and smiled to myself. 

The ceiling scene I enjoyed

I found it interesting that I wasn't terrified like I was the first time I'd had a breast ultrasound done. Over the years, I've become desensitized to all the poking, prodding, and tests. Perhaps it's because I feel in my heart cancer is no longer a threat to me. Oh, I know it can be. I'm not being naive about the dangers and possibility of a recurrence, it just feels like my stint with cancer is over and has been for some time. 

It kind of feels moot to have to keep going to the oncologist for annual checkups but I'm glad I have a safety net in place just in case. 

On the way home, I continued to pray for Mrs. Morgan. I wish I knew if she was doing okay. 

Next month, I'll return to the oncologist for more blood work, to see the integrative wellness team. Thankfully all that will be after vacation and I can enjoy the sand and sea without thinking about anything cancer related.

Sometimes Surveillance is Satisfactory

When survivorship becomes long-term, it can be an adjustment to move from active treatment to periodic surveillance.

Yesterday, I was scheduled for my annual visit at the cancer treatment center. Since my last visit, the center had been bought by another company. I was nervous about the visit, not only because it had been a while since I’d been there, but also because I would be seeing a new oncologist.

Front of the building

Since being diagnosed with breast cancer, I’ve seen several oncologists. For one reason or another, I hadn’t been with one for more than 2 years. I always found it difficult to see a new doctor but learned to develop a “nutshell” version of my medical history to present at each visit.

When I arrived at the cancer center, I lucked up and found a parking space close to the front door. The parking lot was packed and I was grateful, especially since I’d been having a lot of knee problems and walking was difficult.

As I entered the building, I wasn’t prepared for the anxious feelings that suddenly overwhelmed me. Standing in the lobby, I looked around. Some things were familiar but many things had changed.

At the registration desk, I received a schedule of my appointments for the day. It was going to be a long day. I would start the day with a visit to the lab, then I’d see a nurse for assessment before seeing the oncologist. After the oncologist, I’d see a naturopath and finally, I’d end the day in the physical therapy department as I was re-evaluated for lymphedema treatment.

First waiting room area

The lab visit was quick and a skilled nurse found the vein in my hand quickly. It would be an hour before my next appointment, so I found an empty chair in a quiet hallway and sat down to read. As I waited, I watched patients come and go. I felt uncomfortable. I didn’t look like the other breast cancer patients. I looked healthy and strong while they were evidently in various stages of treatment. Pushing down my feelings of survivor’s guilt, I continued to vacillate between reading my book and looking at my watch.

When the time came for me to head toward the oncology department, my anxiety eased a bit as I saw a familiar face. One of the administrative staff greeted me with a big smile and said, “I remember you!” Instantly, her kindness put my heart at ease.

Soon I was called back to meet with the new nurse. After a brief visit with her, I was placed in an exam room to await my new oncologist.

When the oncologist entered, she briefly introduced herself and then turned to introduce me to her scribe and a nurse. I was surprised to have 3 people attending me.

The doctor pulled up my medical records on her computer screen and began to read about my case. As she recanted the information to me, I was surprised when she said, “So I see here you underwent reconstruction…” Immediately, I interrupted her and said, “No. I did not.” She looked shocked that she’d received incorrect information. Though I was hesitant to correct her, I wanted to make sure my record accurately reflected my cancer journey.

Waiting room for the naturopath

 

After getting familiar with my case, the doctor asked about my current symptoms and whether I was having any problems. I mentioned a growth I’d found at my left clavicle. She quickly palpated it and ordered an ultrasound. I was glad she was concerned and proactive.

Next, I was sent to the naturopath. He met with me for about twenty minutes and gave ideas on how to combat my chronic insomnia. I enjoyed talking with him and left with a sheet of paper listing several companies that provided CBD products he thought would be helpful.

One thing I like about the cancer treatment center was its integrative and holistic approach to treatment.

View of the parking lot from the rooftop

 

The next stop was the physical therapy department. A new therapist asked about my lymphedema and went over treatment options. As she talked, I smiled and told her I’d been dealing with this for 9 years and I was very familiar with manual lymphatic drainage, dry brushing, and using compression garments. She laughed and said, “So this is really old hat to you?” I nodded and she told me to keep on doing what I was doing and I wouldn’t need to see her again unless something changed. 

After all my appointments, I wanted a few minute to decompress so I went up the secret elevator (the one only patients know about) that takes you up to the fifth floor. Up there, patients can hang out in a very private, quiet terrace area. I like going up there because usually there's no one there. It's a good thinking spot, but when I got there, two women were sunbathing and I didn't want to disturb them so I picked a quiet corner and took a few minutes to pray before leaving. 

I left the facility feeling conflicted. While I understood the importance of an annual visit, I still hadn’t gotten used to being under surveillance care.

When I first began treatment, I was seeing someone every few months or so. As time went on, my appointments were moved out to about every six months, and now, every year.

It was comforting to know someone was keeping a close watch on me but I would also have to keep a close watch on myself. That’s one reason I’ve learned, over the years, to pay particular attention to my body. Aches and pains are normal parts of aging but there are things that I need to watch like lumps that randomly appear or an increase in lymphatic issues.

from the roof toward the front of the building

The good thing about being under surveillance is knowing I’m only a phone call away from medical care. Though I won’t see the oncologist every few months, I’ll always see my primary care physician multiple times a year. If there’s something I’m not sure about, I can always ask his opinion first and if he thinks it’s something cancer-related, he’ll refer me back to the oncologist.

5th floor roof terrace hangout for patients

 

 

 

 

Being under surveillance takes some getting used to. I like the freedom of knowing I don’t have to report in for treatment constantly but I’m not quite used to returning to my post-cancer life. I guess all good things come in time but I still don’t understand why the oncologist won’t say I’m completely cured. In my heart, I don’t believe cancer will ever be a part of my life again even if cancer care continues to be.

It’s such a blessing to know I can finally live my life without the constant fear of recurrence. It’s taken me 9 years to get to this point but boy, it sure feels good.

One Step Forward & One Step Back

 I finally got the results from the stomach biopsies last week but was so busy I forgot to blog about it, so please forgive me.Thankfully, I was right. It ended up being no news was good news. 

When the doctor called to give me the report, I was so happy to hear him say they were benign tumors and we'd just keep an eye on them. Whew! I felt like I dodged a big bullet. That was my one step forward because knowing I wasn't going to immediately face another cancer diagnosis, I felt a huge weight lifted from my shoulders, or should I say belly? Lol!

But after that phone call, I got to thinking. Was I really getting the kind of surveillance care I needed? After a cancer diagnosis, patients need to be kept under a watchful eye. Routine tests need to be performed and everything that can be done to prevent a possible recurrence needs to be done. I'm coming up on my 9th year post cancer and while I'm extremely blessed to be able to say that, since changing back to my old oncology group, I was only being seen once a year. That didn't quite seem enough in my book. I felt like I should at least be seen every six months. 

A niggling little feeling kept at me and I decided to reach out to the cancer treatment center I'd gone to for 5 years before. Let me give a little back history, in case you're new to the blog and don't know the details. 

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, I'd just moved to a new city and didn't know any doctors so I had to look on the internet for oncologists in my area. After finding the closest ones to me, I became a patient in their practice and got good care until my doctor, Dr. F, decided to leave that group and go with another hospital in a neighboring city. At that time, I tried a couple of other doctors in the group but they were much older and ready for retirement. I wanted a doctor who was going to be around a while and was pleasantly surprised when a new cancer treatment center was built just about ten miles from my home. 

 I contacted the center and liked the fact that everything was in one building - doctors offices, imaging services, physical therapy, chemotherapy and radiation therapies, a nutritionist, chiropractor, acupuncturist, naturopath, dietician, library, and religious services. It was a one stop shop! With my old oncologist, if I'd need any scans or tests, I always had to go to another facility and sometimes it was very inconvenient.

The doctor I was seeing at the cancer treatment center, Dr. H, specialized in breast cancer and hematology but not long after I'd gotten established with him, he left and started a practice in another state. At that point, I was randomly assigned to another oncologist just before Covid hit. 

The first time I saw that doctor, Dr. M, I went to the facilty for an in person meeting but was surprised when I first had an "interview" via an iPad. It was weird to sit in an exam room with a chair in front of me staring at a screen as the doctor asked me questions. When he felt like I was "safe to approach in person," he came into the room but stay on the other side far away from me. Through a masked face, he asked a few questions and left shortly after. To say I felt slighted was a huge understatement. 

The day after that experience, I contacted the cancer treatment center and told them I didn't want to see Dr. M again. I requested a new doctor, one that would treat me as a valued patient. But somehow, I slipped through the cracks and kept getting the run around every time I called back to schedule an appointment. I had no idea what was going on and tried to get back in for several months before finally giving up and going back to the first practice I'd had care under. 

I was received there and assigned to Dr. P, a young, cordial doctor who felt like I could see him annually and do okay. 

In the meantime, the cancer treatment center was bought by an organization called City of Hope and a lot of positive changes were made.

One day, while checking my emails, I came across an email from a woman I remembered from the cancer treatment center. Her name was Kelly and she was a patient outreach coordinator. In her message, she asked how I was doing and if there was anything she could do to help me. I was surprised to get her message, especially since I'd tried for months to get an appointment there. Explaining the situation to her, I sent a reply. The following day, she messaged back and said she'd forwarded my message on to another staff member and she assured me I'd hear back soon. Within a couple of days, I got a phone call and the ball started rolling fast. 

To make a long story shorter, I was scheduled for a screening phone call and then a telehealth appointment with an intern there. After answering a gazillion questions, I was given an actual appointment with a new oncologist, Dr. S. Not only was I given a new appointment, I was also scheduled to have lab work done, to meet with the naturopath, and to meet with the occupational therapist all on the same day! Talk about a difference of service and attention! 

My new oncologist

Going back to the cancer treatment center, which was now called the City of Hope was a step back but not really. It felt kind of like I was doing a medical tango going from one doctor to another over the years, but there are no rules in cancer care. It's okay to do what's best for you. 

Sometimes it's necessary to make changes to your medical staff, especially if you feel you're not getting the care you need. I've found, over the years, I am my own best advocate. And I've learned to listen to that still little voice that speaks to my heart telling me when I need to do something different. 

9 years is a long time to survive cancer. This July 9th, I'll celebrate that milestone and I'm looking forward to celebrating year after year in the future. 

Although it seems I've been through the alphabet when it comes to doctors and I've had to adjust to new technologies in the way they're doing things now, I think I'm on the right track. I'm looking forward to meeting Dr. S this coming Wednesday. 

It will feel kind of odd to be back in the old cancer treatment center, but it will feel good, too. I know exactly where everything is there. I won't be scared, like I was when I first started going there. I'm thankful I felt led to keep pushing until I got what I wanted and needed. Getting the best health care possible is so important to someone who'd been through cancer. 

A fear of recurrence is always something we struggle with.  That reminds me, when I was having the telehealth appointment with the intern from City of Hope, he told me that he'd also been through cancer and was currently celebrating his 16th year of being cancer free. As we were talking, I asked him if the fear of recurrence ever goes away. He said, "It will with time." That gave me hope that I won't always struggled with these feelings. You'd think I'd be over those feelings by now, but I'm not. Every time I have any kind of physical malady, my first thought is, "Oh No! The cancer's back." I know it's not health to think like that, but it's exactly how I feel. Cancer does a number on your body, but also on your mind. Being a survivor means you have to find a way to push through those "what if" moments each day as they come and that takes a lot of will power.

Conflicted

Tomorrow is the big day. It's my annual visit to the oncologist. I'm struggling with my feelings. While I want to be hopeful and optimistic, I'm feeling fearful and filled with trepidation. 

Piedmont Hospital

Normally, these visits are uneventful. I go to the lab for bloodwork, where they do the typical tumor marker tests, and then I see the doctor. He usually sits and talks with me for about ten or fifteen minutes and then says, "I'll let you know if there's anything concerning on your bloodwork. See you next year!" And that's that. I leave the office and breathe easy for a while until it's time to do it all over again. But this time, I have several things to discuss with him, and since it's about time for me to have another PET scan, I'm expecting him to order one of those. 

And that's why I wonder, when and if, I'll ever be able to put cancer in the rearview. 

Today on Facebook, I got word of another friend whose cancer has returned. It seems every friend I've had, who shared a breast cancer diagnosis and took chemotherapy, has either passed away or had their cancer return. I, on the other hand, am still here. I can't help but wonder why. 

PET scanner

My faith, I'm sure, is the key factor in all of this. Without it, I imagine I'd be gone, too. But I keep telling myself God has a reason for me to still be here. There must be something more I'm supposed to do. 

This is a hard, hard time of year though for so many people. 

I was looking back through my iCloud photos from the past year and realized I've not only lost several friends, but I'd also had many friends who've lost their spouses. My heart grieves for all the losses. Sometimes, life is so hard. 

Our tree

Not only that, at Christmas, families are supposed to be together but so many are broken. And while I wish I could say mine hasn't suffered that fate; it has. Oh, if only things could be the way they're supposed to be, but all we can do is keep on praying and keep on believing that one day, wounds will be healed, and fences mended. 

Gosh. I didn't mean for this to be such a depressing post! I'm sorry! Don't get the wrong idea - I do have hope. 

Christmas is one of my most favorite times of the year. I love decorating! I love buying gifts and wrapping them. I love having some of my children and grandchildren here for the holidays. Sure, I'd love to have them all here with me, but they have families of their own and I have to be understanding. 

My advent wreath

I remember the days when my children were small. I had to split the Christmas holidays between visiting my parents and my in laws. By the time the day was done, everyone was worn out. One year, we decided to stay home and enjoy Christmas at our house. You'd think we committed a mortal sin by the way the parents and in laws acted, but I didn't care. I wanted my children to enjoy a very special time in their own home. We invited people to join us at our house and eventually, they came around, but I never heard the end of it. Sometimes you have to fight for your rights, even if it makes others a little miffed. 

Over the past few days, I've taken a step back from all of the hullabaloo associated with Christmas prep. I've asked God to shift my focus. Thankfully, since Hanukkah overlaps Christmas this year, I've been able to celebrate that along with Advent. Both of those have helped me think more about God and His wonderful love for us.

My menorah & nativity

No matter what news I receive from this oncology visit, I'm going to look forward to celebrating the new year by taking one day at a time. 

The Bible says none of us are promised tomorrow. Since I was diagnosed with cancer, God's given me the gift of being able to see that in a very real way. 

I'm so thankful He's seen fit to let me continue to live a little longer. I sure hope I don't any of the blessings He's given me for granted. 

Please offer up a prayer for me tomorrow and thank you in advance.

Many blessings, 

Bonnie

Will the cancer screenings ever end?

 This morning I was scheduled for an MRI. At my recent visit to see the oncologist, he was concerned about my mentioning an increase in spine and hip pain, so he scheduled more testing. I was thankful he was being proactive but was concerned about the financial end of it. MRIs are expensive. 

I arrived at the imaging center about fifteen minutes early. After signing in and paying my 20% portion, I sat down. I wasn't expecting to pay that large amount. Thankfully, I had tucked a credit card into my wallet just in case. 

When the technician called me back, she asked if I had any metal in or on my body. I didn't. I'd been through this before and knew to remove all metal from my clothing and on my body. She showed me to a locker room where I could store my things and then took me to the imaging room. 

In front of me was the big, ugly torture chamber. I'm very claustrophobic and struggle to make it through testing. I asked the tech how long I'd be in the tube, and she said, "Probably about an hour and 45 minutes." Wow! I wasn't expecting that either and questioned her. She said, "You'll be having 3 MRIs today - one on your cervical spine, one on your thoracic spine, and one on your right hip." Oh, joy. That explained the large amount I had to pay at the front desk - 3 testes instead of one. 

I'd taken half an anxiety pill before arriving at the center. I knew it was going to be stressful being in the machine. I couldn't stand having the sides pressed tight against me and feeling entombed. The medication helped for about the first 30 minutes of testing and then it wore off. 

I kept my eyes closed the entire time. I didn't want to see how close the machine was to my face. Thankfully they had air flowing through the tube so I didn't feel like I couldn't breathe but the earplugs and headphones did little to muffle the large metal ball banging sounds as the scans commenced. 

The tech had told me she'd play some music through the headphones for me and asked what kind I liked. I told her Boney James and she said she'd find some on Pandora before starting the test, but I guess she forgot. 

When I started to get anxious, I pressed the emergency call button and asked her how much longer I'd be in the tube. She said another hour. I asked if I could come out a few minutes reposition myself. My hip was hurting so badly on the hard table. 

She slid me out and said my timing was perfect. After I'd gotten a little more comfortable, she said she was about to perform the hip study. Positioning a foam block between my ankles, she turned them inward and then strapped them together with a long velcro strap. Next, she placed some sort of frame over my hips and slid me back into the tube. 

I didn't think I'd ever get out. I lay there and prayed as the banging continued. When she finally slid me out of the tube, a took a high sigh of relief. 

It took a few minutes to get up off of the table. My hip and back were hurting but also, I was dizzy. Managing to move into a sitting position, I sat on the side of the table for a few minutes as she prepared a disk for me. The disk would have all of the images loaded and I could look through them if I wanted. They'd also send a copy to the doctor. 

When I got home, I popped the disk into my computer. The images loaded and I began to look at them. It was interesting to see inside my body. There were some things I recognized and some I didn't. 

Hopefully, in the next day or two, my oncologist will give me a report of the findings. I'm curious to hear what the test showed. I guess the next step will be to see an orthopedic doctor for the pain, but I'm not sure. 

There were some odd white blobs on the cross section of my brain. Those were quite concerning and have me wondering if I possibly have a brain tumor like my grandmother did. I pray not! 

Anyway, now I play the game of hurry up and wait. I'm not a very patient person. I guess God is trying to teach me that lesson. Maybe I learn it one of these days. 

How did he feel?

 I was reading a cancer forum the other day and one of the participants posed a thought - "I always wondered how the doctor felt just before he told me I had cancer." As I read her words, I was stunned. I'd never given much thought to the doctor's feelings and I certainly hadn't considered his point of view. But as I began to think back to that fateful June day in 2014, I did my best to imagine the scenario. 

He stands outside a solid wooden door fingering the results of her recent biopsy. The news is not good. 

He wipes beads of sweat from his brow as he waits, listening. Inside the room, he hears the crinkle of the exam table paper shift beneath her wait. 

How long has she been waiting? Fifteen minutes, thirty? It must seem like an eternity to her. 

Slowly, he reaches out and takes the doorknob in his hand. As he gently turns it, he pulls slightly allowing the bright light from the room to filter into the hallway. He should have knocked first. In his haste, he'd forgotten so he pulls the door closed and raps three times. 

At the sound, she responds softly, "Come in." 

With determination, he opens the door and smiles as he greets her. "How are you today?" He asks but doesn't want to hear the answer. It's just a formality. 

He watches her eyes as he moves to his stool. She's fixed her gaze on the paper in his hand. She knows, he thinks...she knows. 

Taking a deep breath, he waits as he thinks to himself, I must do this carefully. Although I've done it thousands of times before, it's always difficult. In an instant, her life will change forever. 

Her eyes are so intense - those large brown, soulful eyes of hers bore into my soul. How can I tell her she has cancer? I can't choose to see her in any other way than professionally. The telling is part of my job. I'm just doing my job, he tells himself convincingly. 

 Mrs. Annis, I have bad news...no. I can't start like that. Mrs. Annis, I have your test results here. Let's go over them, shall we? Much better. Professional but not condescending. 

And then he reads. And she begins to weep. 

Oh no, he thinks, here we go again. I hate my job. 

Pain, pain, go away!

I haven't written in a while so I'm hesitant to start off this blog post talking about pain, but it's what's most prevalent in my life right now, so please forgive me.

For the past few months, every bone and joint in my body has hurt but lately, the increase in pain has become worrisome...especially now that the pain seems to be concentrated in my spine.

My next visit to the oncologist isn't until February 2019 (I'm on an every 6 months schedule right now) but if it keeps getting worse, I'm going to have to go in. In the meantime, I've been hearing many good things about cancer survivors and the use of medical marijuana.

Since Governor Nathan Deal passed the medical marijuana law for our state, I've been thinking about approaching my oncologist about possibly prescribing it to see if it would help alleviate my pain. From everything I've read about cannabidiol, it doesn't contain the levels of THC that cause the mood altering affects of normal marijuana. In fact, the Georgia law states that any medical marijuana product can't contain more than 5% THC and a person cannot have more than 20 fluid ounces on their possession without suffering the consequences of receiving a felony charge against them.

Most medical marijuana is given to end stage cancer patients but it's also used for those suffering chronic pain, like I do.

I have a very high pain tolerance so when I say I need something to help with the pain, my pain level is off the charts. For a normal person, the one to ten scale offers a place for them to rate their pain but I've been living with pain so long now, it's impossible for me to pick a number that matches my level of discomfort.

Every time I am in extreme pain, I can't help but wonder if the cancer has come back and if it might have settled in my spine. In 2015, doctors found a suspicious spot on my spine at L5 and thought the cancer had returned. It turned out, after more testing, that it was just a hemangioma but it scared the living daylights out of me.

I pray daily and ask God to keep me free from another round of cancer. I don't know if I could take it. This one has been hard enough.

To keep my mind off the constant pain, I've been using art therapy. It helps me shift my focus from the pain and allows me to be creative. It's a self imposed therapy that I've thoroughly enjoyed but I have to temper my time. Usually the best time for painting is early in the mornings when I have the most energy. As the day progresses, my back hurts more and more, and I have to quit working.

My complaints aren't always vocalized. I try to keep them to myself as much as possible for fear of burdening others with my problems, but sometimes, you just need to dump things out and let them go...so that's what I'm doing. Thanks for reading and for the love and support you offer. It means a lot!

The Purpose In Suffering

Yesterday, I was reminded of something important. Late in the day, as I was checking my emails, I received notification that someone had left a comment on one of my blog posts. I have my account set up so I can moderate comments as they come in because, in the past, I've received some pretty racy spam comments that shocked me to my core when they were posted without my knowledge.

As I read the comment the reader left, I went back to that post I'd made in October of 2014. Re-reading the post brought back a flood of memories, some good, and some not so good.

In the post, I was reminded of a lesson God had taught me. It's been almost 4 years since that original post and He's still teaching me reasons for my suffering.

You'd think, by now, my suffering would have ended. You'd think, I'd be much stronger and more healthy than I was back in 2014 after surgery and treatment, but I'm not. Daily, I'm in pain. Some days are worse than others, but there's never a day without some discomfort.

I try hard not to mention it. My husband is really the only one who sees my constant struggles. I try hard to keep my physical pain from my children and grandchildren. There's nothing they can do to help me other than pray, so why bother them with it?

When my spine screams in agony, or when my arms are swollen so tight they feel like they'll burst, I have to remember, God has allowed this into my life. I have to trust that He knows what He's doing. I have to trust He's using this for my benefit. It isn't always easy, in fact, most days it's really hard. And, I do spend a lot of time on the floor of my closet in tears crying out to Him, but I know I'm not forgotten. When I do give Him my agony and pain, He gives me His peace. And that's enough.

Tomorrow, I'll see the new oncologist. I'd be lying if I didn't say I was nervous. Although I'm coming up on my four-year cancerversary (July 9, 2018), every visit to the cancer treatment center is scary. It's always concerning when the lab results come in. I can't help wonder if my tumor marker will be up and more tests will need to be done.

I canceled the MRI I was supposed to have done last week. I'll be talking with the new oncologist about this and get his feelings before rescheduling. If he feels it will be beneficial, then I'll do it. If not, I'll wait.

This morning, as I read my Bible, I was reminded that Jesus is the Good Shepherd. I always wondered why He had to qualify Himself to those to whom He was speaking. In the Greek language, the word good is translated, "Kalos." This word describes someone who is noble, wholesome, good, and beautiful. It signifies not only that which is good inwardly—character—but also that which is attractive outwardly. It is an innate goodness. Therefore, in using the phrase “the good shepherd,” Jesus is referencing His inherent goodness, His righteousness, and His beauty. As shepherd of the sheep, He is the one who protects, guides, and nurtures His flock.

As I thought about my Shepherd, Jesus, I was reminded that I am a lowly sheep. Sheep need to be protected, guided, and cared for. That is exactly what Jesus is doing for me.

While I continue my journey through breast cancer, I can trust Him to lead me exactly where I need to go.

His purpose for my suffering is only completely known to Him but as I follow after Him, I know that every ache and pain will soon be erased one day, and that makes it bearable.

Every little things gonna be alright

It's been a little while since I've written, so I felt like today was a good day to catch up. You've heard that old adage - no news is good news? Well, it's true! I am happy to report that absolutely nothing eventful has taken place in my life for some time now and it feels absolutely amazing. Of course I still deal with the daily after effects of breast cancer -  low self esteem, fatigue, and lymphedema, but those little creeps are going to be with me for the rest of my life, I guess, so I'd better get used to them and move on.

Fall is coming and I'm thankful! That means cooler weather and long sleeve blouses. Sweaters and layering are my best camouflaging tools. I'm still embarrassed by the girth of my upper arms (thanks, lymphedema) and finding tops that fit is a constant challenge. If I buy clothing a few sizes larger, the arms fit loosely and comfortably but makes me look like I've got room for a crowd elsewhere. So what's a girl to do? I guess buy a pattern, modify it, and get busy sewing...

Speaking of sewing, I made a new tablecloth for my formal dining room table yesterday. I have a large oval cherry table and it seems manufacturer's don't seem to think anyone has oval shaped tables any longer. I can find pre-made tablecloths in rectangular, square, and round shapes but not oval. It's frustrating but I'm thankful I know how to sew.

My energy level seems pretty consistent these days. I usually go strong from 7:00 a.m. until 3:00 p.m. and then my get up and go departs. I've learned to plan accordingly and when I have a big project, I get started on it early. I work hard until mid afternoon and then, when I feel the fatigue setting in, I stop. It's been hard to get used to but as I've set these healthy boundaries for myself, I'm able to feel better.

I've been working on my book for several months now. I never thought it would be so hard to process my thoughts and put them down in a cohesive order, but it has. I find I don't make time during the day to write much for myself. I'm always working on articles for the breast cancer magazine or working on book reviews for Christian companies. While I enjoy doing those things, I really need to focus on my own project now. I'd hoped to complete my book by December but now it looks like I'll be pushing into next year.

We've got several trips planned before the end of the year and I'm looking forward to those little getaways. It's amazing how rejuvenated I feel after returning from a small trip. Just being able to step out of my familiar surroundings into a different environment is very therapeutic.

It's strange not seeing a doctor every other month now. I'm finally on the six month regimen with my oncologist. While it's scary not having that constant safety net of periodic checkups, I'm enjoying feeling more normal. Hospitals, medical offices, and labs have been my world for the past three years. I feel like I've broken free from my ragged rope tether and I'm running freely through the world of good health...AND IT FEELS SO GOOD!

So, that's all that's happening in my world right now. What's happening in yours?

God Sent Mr. Browning

My signature on the gloves

I had been in a hurry to get to my appointment with the oncologist. Traffic in the mornings here is always hectic so I wanted to make sure and leave early. I grabbed a frozen smoothie, got dressed, put on my makeup and dashed out the door. I didn't have time to ready my Bible and have my devotional as I usually do but on my way to the center, I began to pray and asked God to give me a verse to hold on to today. I felt Him impress Philippians 4:13 on my heart, "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength." So I meditated on that verse until I reached the center. (I had been nervous about getting the results of my bone scan but had surrendered the results to God and had told Him earlier in the day that no matter what they showed, I'd accept either good or not so good from His hand because I knew He'd have a purpose for either result and I trusted Him completely.)

Armband and nametag

When I entered the cancer treatment center, it was extremely busy. There were people everywhere. As I looked over the sea of people, I saw so many cancer victims in various stages of treatment. It made me sad to see there were so many gathered in one place and all I could think about were the hundreds of thousands across America that I couldn't see.

I made my way to the oncologist's office and sat down to wait. In the waiting room, chairs filled every few minutes until the waiting room was almost to capacity. The last couple to come in were African American. They sat down close to me and I smiled to greet them. I watched as the man pulled out a full sized Bible and I smiled realizing he was a man of faith. I assumed he was going to read to himself while his wife went back for treatment but was I ever wrong. Mr. Arthur Browning (all CTCA patients and visitors have to wear name tags) began to read Scripture aloud! At first, I watched to see how others in the waiting room reacted. There were some wh

o were visibly uncomfortable as they squirmed in their seats and cast disdainful looks in his direction. Others ignored him completely but I was extremely grateful! God sent Mr. Browning to personally bless me.

Sweet Mr. Browning reads the Bible

For about ten minutes, Mr. Browning read Scripture. When he was through, he and his wife closed their eyes to pray. (That's when I captured their photo) After he raised his eyes, I went over to Mr. Browning and whispered a quiet "Thank you." I explained to him that I'd been unable to read my Bible before coming and I was expecting to receive my test results today. Although I was unsure whether I'd receive a diagnosis of a recurrence of cancer or if I'd get a clear bill of health, his Scripture reading had blessed me and I wanted him to know it. He smiled a big smile and the medical assistant called Mrs. Browning back.

My turn came next and I went to talk with the oncologist. She didn't beat around the bush but got straight to my results. There was no evidence of active cancer!!! I was so thankful to hear that good news. My degenerative disk disease had gotten worse and the scan showed a herniated disk, two bulging disks, osteoarthritis, and arthritis in my knees and heels (weird, I know).

Although I'm struggling with the extreme spinal pain, I'm so grateful for NO CANCER! I have to continue to see the oncologist every 6 months unless things change but I am blessed and highly favored!!! I'm being sent to a spinal specialist to see if we can find a way to manage the pain so I'm hopeful. Thank you for your prayers.

Here we go again

I was so keyed up about going to my appointment today that I needed something to help me sleep last night. I'm so thankful I had a prescription for Ambien and I was able to fall soundly asleep within about fifteen minutes after taking it. I don't really like taking medication to help me sleep but lately, it's been a necessity. Either I'm in too much pain to rest comfortably or I can't get my mind to stop thinking.

This morning, the nerves have kicked in again. I'm not looking forward to going to this appointment alone. I'd feel much better if I had someone to go with me but I guess it's time to pull out the big girl panties. I may look for my little friend, the tiny stuffed lion my friend Wendy gave me at the beginning of my treatments in 2014. I took that little guy with me to every test and every treatment. I know. It was a silly thing to do but it brought me great comfort and made me feel less alone.

No one likes feeling like a bug under a microscope and that's exactly how I'll feel today. After answering a zillion and one health questions, the poking and prodding will begin. Today's supposed to be an easy day. Tomorrow will be the testing day. I've already been told I'll have another bone scan and probably more ultrasounds. I feel like I'm starting from scratch....

Saturday, I'm to meet with the new oncologist. Yes, I said Saturday. I know. I thought it was weird too. How many professionals are willing to meet with patients on a Saturday? Not many. But I'm thankful it's a woman and I'm also thankful my first meeting with her will be on a Saturday so Phil can come with me. If this doctor is like my other doctors from India, I'm sure she'll be very pleasant and very helpful.

As I type this, I can't help but watch the clock. I need to leave for my appointment soon.

When is it time to find a new oncologist?

When the mail came and I found an envelope from my oncologist’s office, I felt fear rising in my chest. A knot developed in my throat as I slid my finger underneath the pre-moistened flap of the long, white envelope. Sliding my finger along the flap, I held my breath until the letter was finally opened. As I withdrew the enclosed letter, I braced. I had no idea why I was receiving any form of written communication from my doctor. I hadn’t had any recent blood work or other tests. I began to read the letter and was instantly put at ease. It was just a standard letter. My upcoming appointment had been canceled. I needed to call the office and reschedule. I wondered why. I’d made the appointment several months earlier with the scheduling clerk. She’d offered me that specific date and time.  

At first, I wanted to give my doctor the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’d had a surgery scheduled that he’d forgotten, or perhaps he’d been called out of town on a conference. Maybe his wife wanted to go on a family vacation. Then, I remembered this was not the first time I’d received a rescheduling letter in the mail. This was actually the third time in several months. I wondered why they didn’t just try to call me, like most of my physicians did when they needed to change my appointment time or date. The more I thought about the letter in my hand, the more I realized things hadn’t been quite right with my doctor for some time.

I noticed it almost immediately after I was diagnosed. When I refused chemotherapy, my doctor seemed to become closed toward me. Although I explained I wanted to conquer my cancer as naturally as possible and avoid conventional treatment as much as I could; he seemed disinterested in me. Each visit after my initial diagnosis seemed extremely uncomfortable. The doctor barely spoke to me and only spent a few minutes of time with me. I chalked it up to a busy practice with many patients scheduled each day. So when I saw him, I tried to get straight to the point and not take up his valuable time. One of my friends suggested that perhaps he wasn’t pleased with me because I had decided not to take the anti-hormone therapy. She even said some doctors take kickbacks from pharmaceutical companies though they’re not supposed to do that. I didn’t want to believe he’d stoop that low, but I just didn’t know.

When I discovered a small, grape sized lump in my side, I made a mental note to bring it to my doctor’s attention. On my next visit, I asked him to feel it and let me know if I should be concerned. He lightly rubbed his hand across my abdomen and said he didn’t feel anything. The lump was palpable even to my untrained fingers. There were several incidents afterward that caused me to wonder if perhaps my doctor was losing interest in me. He’d slip out of the room to have a personal conversation on his cell phone. He’d pay more attention to his watch as I talked than he’d give to me. I didn’t understand why the sudden shift in interest. When I first began to see him, he seemed so kind and caring. I wondered if it was because I’d voiced concerns over my regimen of care. I hadn’t ever dismissed his suggestions and always deferred to his medical expertise, but I did explain my desire to avoid any unnecessary side effects along the way. That was why I’d refused chemotherapy and had stopped taking the Aromasin, Arimidex, and Tamoxifen after several months.  I wondered if maybe he thought I didn’t want or need his help but I’d never missed an appointment or scheduled test. I’d always respected and listened carefully to him.

I talked the situation over with my husband and explained how I’d noticed a decline in my relationship with the doctor over the past three years. He suggested I look for another oncologist and advised that I needed a doctor who was genuinely interested in my health care. If I felt uncomfortable with my current doctor and didn’t feel the freedom to discuss things with him, it was time to move on. I’d never given this option a thought. I assumed when you began treatment with an oncologist you were with them for the duration. After all, this wasn’t a minor health care issue. This was a lifelong illness. So I promised I’d consider it and I began looking.

The first concern I had in seeking a new oncologist was wondering if he’d accept a patient not currently in active treatment. Would an oncologist take on someone like me who seemed to be in remission and might just need to come in for periodic “tune-up” scans? The first thing I needed to do was make a list of potential doctors. Next, I’d have to check with my insurance company and make sure the doctor I was considering was “in network” under my plan. If he was not, I’d have to keep checking until I found one who was on my plan. After finding a new oncologist, I’d need to check credentials. I preferred a board certified oncologist. It was important to me to find a doctor who’d been practicing for a number of years, one with a good reputation, and one with  a good education. The most important requirement for me was to find an approachable doctor with a good bedside manner. I wanted a doctor who would not only listen to what I had to say but hear what I wasn’t saying. Was it too much to ask that I could feel comfortable enough around him to consider him a friend? This was going to be a long term relationship. I also needed him to talk to me in a way that I could understand. I didn’t want to be afraid to ask him questions. The more I thought about all the things I needed and wanted in a new oncologist, the more I realized I didn’t have any of those things with my current doctor.

I made the first step today.  I called our new cancer treatment center. It’s within ten miles of my home. I wasn’t able to speak to a human but I did leave a voicemail. If I can find a new oncologist, the next step will be transferring all of my medical records. With access to most digital files online, it shouldn’t be much of a problem. I’m nervous about forging ahead but feel like I need to do what’s best for my medical care. A doctor with an attitude of indifference doesn’t make me feel very confident. I think my husband’s right, it’s time for a change.

Just say NO!

It's amazing how much power there is in such a little word. When I say the word NO, I can feel the power rising up in me. Even when you whisper the word, it's authoritative. I've learned to love the word and that wasn't always true of me. You see, I've been a people pleaser most of my life but I didn't realize it. I never understood doing something when you didn't really want to do it wasn't the way things were supposed to be. I was always raised to be agreeable, so I never rocked the boat until I was in my late teens and I learned I had a voice. But even after I learned I had my own opinion and I had a right to voice it, I usually kept my opinions to myself. When I reached my mid forties however, things drastically changed.

When I began working for one of the mega churches in the Metro Atlanta area, I decided to participate in a training program for lay counselors. As part of our training, each of the participants had to go through personal counseling. I'd never been through counseling of any kind before and found it new and exciting. As the counseling sessions progressed, I found myself opening up more than I intended and in the process, discovered many things about myself I'd never focused on before. That's when I discovered I was a people pleaser and had been for most of my life. It was a way of gaining acceptance. When a person fears rejection, learning to please others becomes paramount and often to their own detriment.

I'm well into my fifties now, in fact, on the cusp of sixty! I've not only learned how to use my voice, I've learned I don't really care what anyone thinks of me anymore. I've learned it's okay to set healthy boundaries and feel good about it. I'm no longer a people pleaser. I've learned how to say NO.

A couple of months after I'd had surgery for breast cancer, I began to experience a lot of pain. It was mostly concentrated in my spine but also radiated to other parts of my body. I began to become concerned. I'd heard my oncologist mention when cancer comes back it often attacks the spine, brain, bones, lungs, or liver so naturally, I thought the worst. I dealt with the pain for months and months before contacting my doctor. I was afraid to be told my cancer had come back so I suffered in silence. Soon the pain became unbearable and I had to do something. Tylenol wasn't working. I sent the doctor an email through the patient portal and he quickly responded. (Most doctors nowadays prefer electronic communication instead of phone calls and the responses are almost instantaneous which is good for the patient.) I was surprised when he prescribed Cymbalta. On the television ads, I'd always heard that drug was for those suffering severe depression. I wasn't suffering from depression. I thought there'd been an error and perhaps he'd gotten his emails crossed confusing me with another patient. When I checked with the nurse, she assured me he knew what he was doing.

I took the Cymbalta and was surprised to receive relief in just a few days. It was amazing and I thought it was the best thing ever. I was so thankful for a doctor who knew his stuff. Who would have thought an anti-depressant type drug would help with overall body pain, but it did! For the next month things were great! I wasn't hurting at all. No spine pain. No body aches. Zilch, zip, nada. IT WAS FANTASTIC! It felt like a miracle. I was so grateful. Then one night, while sitting in front of the TV with my husband, I was bored. I started to do some internet research. I'm always on a quest for knowledge...but sometimes it's not a good thing. I began reading all the side effects related to Cymbalta. I also found out it's highly addictive and there are some ugly withdrawal symptoms associated with it. That's when I got scared. I didn't want to become addicted to a medication and I surely didn't want to become dependent on it function. I began to wonder why I'd agreed to take it in the first place but I trusted my doctor. He had more medical knowledge than I did, but this was my life...my body. I knew immediately I needed to come off the drug even though it had been helping me cope with a great deal of pain.

The following morning, I contacted my oncologist and explained my plight. I was instructed to gradually decrease the dosage of Cymbalta for the next two weeks and then discontinue the drug. It wasn't wise to stop "cold turkey."  I was asked if I wanted to try another medication and for a split second, I didn't know how to respond but I remembered my power! I remembered I had a right to say NO and so I did.

Today is the first full day of being off the medication and so far, so good. I have no idea what the future holds, but I feel good about the decision I made to stop taking the drug. It's often hard to know the best decision to make but it's important to weigh all aspects carefully and follow your heart. Though it might seem coincidental that I was bored and just began randomly searching side effects of medications I'm on, I know there's more to it. I'm a firm believer the Holy Spirit leads and guides me in all aspects of my life because I trust Him to do so. I'm thankful I felt led to read about Cymbalta and contact my doctor. I'm also thankful I have the power to say NO.

Putting a chemical into my body isn't something I take lightly. Doctors, while they want to offer their patients comfort, don't always know all side effects of all medications and they certainly don't know how each specific medication will be tolerated by each individual patient. It's our responsibility, as patients, to speak up for our rights. If a drug is causing unwanted side effects, the doctor needs to be alerted. Sometimes it's okay to say NO, even to a doctor and I'm glad I did.