Cancer connections

In 2014, after being diagnosed with breast cancer, I went on a quest to find alternative ways of fighting the disease. I didn't want to go through traditional treatment - surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and then anti-hormone pills for years afterward, so I started digging. I read any and everything I could find on holistic and non traditional means of combating the disease. There was a ton of information out there and at times, my research became overwhelming. I was determined to find a way to win the battle I'd been thrust into and I was willing to do whatever I could to do it on my terms. 

I found the most helpful information as I studied Chinese medicine. Some of the treatment options were pretty easy and others more difficult. I gleaned as much as I could and adopted many of the ideas hoping to extend my life for as long as possible. Some people laughed at me as I began drinking 3 or 4 glasses of organic Matcha green tea a day and they didn't understand the boundaries I put up to help reduce my stress, by I didn't care. It was my life and I was going to live it to the fullest. This July 9, I'll celebrate 11 years of being cancer free. I attribute that to the healthy methods I incorporated into my life, to my faith, and to stress reduction. 

I've never understood why so many of my friends decided to accept traditional treatment after being diagnosed with different forms of cancer. I wondered why they didn't do a little digging to try to find a better way. Of the friends I've made since my diagnosis, there are only one or two still living. I can only attribute those odds to the horrible devastation their bodies faced as they were pumped full of deadly chemicals in an effort to eradicate cancer cells. Did they know chemotherapy also killed their healthy cells? Probably not. I doubt seriously doctors told them. Another thing I've never understood is why doctors don't suggest to patients, as soon as they're diagnosed, there are other options. A good doctor, one seriously committed to the Hippocratic oath,"Do no harm," should say, "I'm so sorry to tell you that you indeed have cancer. I want you to go home and think about how you'd like to proceed. There are many treatment options available. Typically, we suggest the traditional route because we've had some good success with it, but the choice is yours. Do your homework and let me know what you decide. I'll help in any way I can and no matter what you choose, I'll support you. I want to see you live." But that's an unrealistic scenario, I know. 

Yesterday, a sweet friend reached out to tell me her cancer has returned with a vengeance. She's a young mother and more than likely won't make it to see the end of this year barring a miracle. I pray she gets it. She's done everything in her power to fight this horrid disease but no matter what she's done, it's continued to come after her, stalking her like a demon from the pits of hell. My heart breaks for her. 

Early this morning, in the wee hours, as I lay awake listening to a YouTube video, I got a text from another friend. We've known each other about 8 years but have never met in person. Breast cancer connected us through an article I'd written for a cancer publication. This woman had taken time to read it and reach out. After that initial contact, we've been kindred spirits. Getting a text from her about 5:46 A.M. made my heart sing. God knew I needed her message. It was filled with sweet memories we've shared over the past years and reminded me of the value of friendship. The funny thing is, we'll probably never meet in person. She lives many states away, but whenever God pricks one of our hearts, we reach out and connect. It kind of reminds me of the old AT&T/Bell South jingle from years ago, "Reach out and touch someone."

Tragically, one of the good things about cancer is it can definitely connect people in ways no other disease can, but it can also tear people apart. Cancer, in all forms, wields more power than many can fathom. It's a hateful, non discriminatory disease and loves to sneak up on the unsuspecting. My hope is that one day, before my grandchildren and great grandchildren are adults it will be completely gone, but I'm afraid that hope will remain unrealized. Why do I feel this way? It's partially due to all the bio engineered products they consume daily in convenience foods or from the many cancer causing chemicals surrounding them each day-  simple things like cleaning products, impurities in drinking water, etc. But I can still hope and maybe, just maybe my hope will become a reality. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ErNQ415s6A&t=44s

 

Ten Years!

 

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!

Sometimes I just want to pull my hair out

Sometimes I just want to pull my hair out, especially when I read a friend's blog post and I just can't wrap my head around it.

This morning, I was reading a post from a fellow breast cancer survivor. She said her cancer has returned and is growing in her spine. As soon as I read the words, I burst into tears. I just didn't understand! We'd been diagnosed with the same type of cancer in the same year. How could it be that her cancer had returned and mine had not? And what made it even more difficult to understand and accept was the fact that she'd chosen to go the traditional treatment route. I'd opted not to do that. She'd endured chemotherapy, radiation, and the anti-hormone therapy afterward. I'd refused chemo, had done 28 rounds of radiation, and had only taken the anti-hormone drugs for a couple of months. It just didn't compute and it certainly didn't seem fair.

But that's what sucks about cancer. It doesn't follow the rules. It makes its own rules as it goes along. It morphs and changes and there's not a darn thing any of us can do about it. Even with treatment, there are no guarantees. And without it, you just never know...you may survive and you may not. It's just a crap shoot.

So what can we do to better our odds? Naturally, I want to say we should do everything within our power to stay healthy. We should eat right, exercise, get plenty of rest, and try not to stress but that doesn't always work.

And how do I console someone who's living my worse nightmare? I can say I'm praying for you or I'm so sorry to hear your news, but what will that change? It won't take away their pain. It won't lessen their fears. It might exacerbate things and I don't want to be the one to do that. So I'll do nothing but empathize, cry silent tears, and scream words that don't make sense, like WHY????

My heart hurts for her. She's fighting so hard but it seems like a losing battle, and yet...she still fights. I know she's doing it for her family. She has small children and an adoring husband. She wants to do this for them. She's so brave.

I bet she wants to pull her hair out, too. That is, if it's grown back in since her last chemo treatments....

I Hate Cancer

I don't usually use the word hate. I don't like it very much, but today, I will.

Today I got an email from a friend sharing the news that one of her friends was just diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. My friend was reaching out wanting to know how she could help this newly diagnosed friend. As I read through the email, I was not only sad, I got mad. I wasn't mad at the sender. I was mad at the disease.

Everywhere, it seems, cancer continues to invade and decimate the lives of unsuspecting men, women, and children. Every single day, I hear of another case of cancer. For some reason, once you've been diagnosed, people assume you're an instant expert on the disease and I'll admit, I have learned an awful lot over the past 5 years but there's still much to know and understand.

Naively, I keep thinking one day they'll find a cure for all forms of cancer, but when I think of how much money the big pharmaceutical companies are making from treating the disease, I doubt that's true. My heart hurts for all those who've gone the traditional medical route. Chemotherapy, radiation, and antihormone therapy wreak havoc on the body and many times cause irreparable damage. Many people don't know they have a choice not to go the traditional route and doctors don't offer them the choice. It's up to the individual to do their own research or learn of the option by word of mouth from another cancer survivor.

More than likely, cancer has been around for hundreds of years but doctors back then didn't have access to the medical information we have today. I'm sure many people died of cancer that was left undiagnosed or was misdiagnosed. And they may have lived for many, many years with the cancer growing inside their bodies while they were completely unaware that anything was wrong at all. In fact, the oncologist told me that most of the time, by the time a lump is felt, it's been growing in the body for ten years or more. That's a scary thought. How many people purposely check their bodies every day for lumps, bumps, and bruises? Not many.

All that being said, I'm completely disgusted with cancer and yes, I do hate it, but I'm also grateful for it in my own life. It's been a great teacher. It's taught me to slow down and see things differently. That may be a hard concept to grasp for some but it's true. Before cancer, I took so much for granted. Now I don't take a single moment of a single day for granted.

I do still suffer from the side effects of treatment and complications from surgery. Those are little unexpected gifts that cancer left in its wake. And while I wish I didn't have to deal with the aggravating condition of lymphedema, muscle cording, and so many other ill effects of cancer on my body, I'm just thankful to be alive.

It would be amazing to live long enough to see a cure found for cancer, but I doubt it will happen in my lifetime. In the meantime, I pray daily that none of my loved ones will ever be diagnosed. I think I will always hate cancer and I think it's okay to feel that way.

Don't forget where you've been

My mother always told me to look where I was going. More than likely she started speaking those words to me when I was very young but I don't really remember when I first started to hear her chide me. 

What I do know is that as a daydreamer/multi-tasker, my focus has never on what was immediately in front of me. My head was always swiveling, trying to see not only where I was going but where I'd been. That was not necessarily a good thing and often, I ended up with scrapes and bruises from my inattention. But, looking back isn't always a bad thing. In fact, it can be a very good thing. 

Sometimes it's necessary to take a look back in order to see how far you've come. 

Today, as I was working to free up some space on my Google drive, I came across a multitude of photos from my cancer journey. That journey began in June of 2014. As I started to look through the photos, I became overwhelmed. Although it's been almost 5 years since my diagnosis, it seems like it was only yesterday. 

One of the photos that particularly impacted me was a picture of my naked torso. In that photo, I'd already had my breasts removed and had almost completely healed from that surgery. The photo was taken at the radiation clinic and the staff had just completed their "mark up" for my scheduled treatments. The dots and lines they'd applied with a Sharpie marker wouldn't stay on permanently but they'd stay on through the first couple of treatments. 

I remember well the day they began to mark up my body. They'd made a fiberglass mold of my upper body for the linear accelerator to insure accurate positioning every time I came in for treatment but then, they'd also explained, the need for markings to help line up the beams of radiation. Without them, some of my vital organs could be damaged. 

Radiation was difficult although I didn't feel a thing while going through the treatments. There were no sharp pains, no ill side effects other than some extreme fatigue and the burns I acquired about halfway through treatment. But later on, down the road, the doctor discovered I'd received some damage to the lower lobe of my right lung. They'd done everything they could to avoid damaging my organs but they could only control the radiation to a certain degree. I'd been warned in advance that the possibility of some residual damage was possible. 

As I looked at the photos of the radiation therapy, I could feel those feelings all over again. The feelings of embarrassment at having to bare my chest to even more people than I'd already done and of the feelings that cancer would never end. I was very down in the dumps during that time and feeling pretty hopeless. It wasn't good. 

But then I flipped through more photos and came across the ones from my first few cancerversaries. We'd had cake and family had come to help me celebrate those important milestones. Those were extremely happy memories and as I remembered those days, I was thankful. 

There were also photos of special trips we'd made to the beach and photos of my new boobs. I'd tried to document every aspect of my journey so my children would be able to look back one day and see how far I'd come. Some of the photos were extremely serious and some were overwhelmingly hilarious. 

Taking a walk down memory lane through Cancerland today was interesting. I'd forgotten about some of those moments but the photos helped remind me. As I looked back, I didn't lose sight of where I am now and I didn't find myself bumping into something that was going to cause me physical pain either. 

It's good to remember where you've been and how much you've overcome. Fighting cancer isn't easy, in fact, there are many, many lessons we learn along the way but some of them aren't realized until we glance back and face reality. 

Breast cancer hasn't been a total negative experience for me. I've learned many things along the way and some of those things I would have never learned were it not for this major health challenge. 

Along with being an "accident waiting to happen" as my mother always called me, I'm also a Pollyanna. My rose colored glasses help me find the good in both the past and in looking toward the future. 

I won't forget where I've been and I certainly won't forget where I'm going. Although I don't have an exact destination here on Earth, I know I'm moving forward one day at a time and that's good enough for me. 

Happy 3rd Cancerversary to me!

It's been 1096 days since I was first diagnosed with breast cancer. Today is my third cancerversary and it's hard to believe it's been three years since I was diagnosed with Stage IIB Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.

We celebrated early (yesterday) with family at a local Chinese restaurant over a scrumptious dinner of all kinds of Chinese favorites. There was Moo Shu Chicken, Mongolian Beef, Egg Rolls, Fried Rice, Chicken Wor Bar, Sweet and Sour Shrimp, and some other dishes. We all ate to our hearts content sharing memories and laughter. It was a good time to just relax and let our hair down. Later, we came back to the house for cake and ice cream. The cake was from Publix and had delicious cream cheese frosting and a luscious center filled with chocolate and strawberries. It more than likely had a couple of thousand calories but we didn't mind! We were celebrating and calories didn't count.

Throughout the day, I'd been emotional. It was hard not to think about all the things I'd been through over the past three years. I couldn't help but remember the surgeries and the pain. There had been many struggles and physical challenges. I'd spent 840 minutes underneath a linear accelerator being radiated. I'd been sick from radiation fatigue and had experienced radiation burns along my right chest and neck. I'd gone through physical therapy, manual lymphatic drainage, and spinal therapy. I'd traveled many miles to countless appointments. I'd spend untold amounts of time on phone calls to doctors. I'd dished out hundreds of thousands of dollars on medical bills, prescriptions, bandages and ointments. I'd had MRI'S, CT SCANS, BONE SCANS, PET SCANS, ULTRASOUNDS, CORE NEEDLE BIOPSIES, XRAYS, MAMMOGRAMS, and more. I'd given pints of blood for testing.  I'd fought with insurance companies over medical equipment. I'd cried more tears than I could ever count in a million years. I'd suffered insomnia, nausea, cording, and Lymphedema. I'd tried three different anti-hormone therapy medications and had horrible side effects from each of them and the list goes on  and on. But, along with all those challenging, heart wrenching, terrible, horrible, awful, very bad things, I'd also experienced many priceless, beautiful, unforgettable moments. And those were the ones I tried to occupy my mind with on Saturday. Those were the ones that mattered the most.

I also thought about the people who'd been there to support me over the past three years. Some family members had been there through thick and thin while others had chosen not to be there at all. I'd made friends and connections with other breast cancer survivors through Facebook and breast cancer websites. I'd had complete strangers offer their love and support. It had been amazing! I have a briefcase full of greeting cards I've received over the past few years. Each and every one speaks volumes to my heart as I read them over and over again.

Never in a million years did I dream I'd still be alive three years after being diagnosed with breast cancer. I still remember the day I heard the words, "YOU HAVE CANCER." I thought surely I'd be dead within the year, but I'm still here! God is so good and I am extremely grateful! It's been a wild, crazy, tumultuous rollercoaster of a ride and even though I'm still on it, I'm thankful the curves, twists, and hairpin turns have drastically slowed down. I keep pushing toward that miraculous 5 year mark my oncologist keeps talking about...the one that's supposed to mark the "approaching safety zone" where the fear of recurrence gets all but obliterated but it seems so far away. No matter how hard I try, I can't help but wonder if I'll ever experience another round of cancer. I surely hope not but if I do, I'll be better prepared the next time around. But I'm really, really hoping there's no next time.

So, happy cancerversary to me! I've made it one more year. For some reason, it feels like cancer was just a tiny blip on the radar and now that tiny blip has disappeared and I'm home free. I guess that's kind of what hope feels like, isn't it? And speaking of hope, if you think about it, I'm already into the first day of my fourth year being "cancer free." (I put those words in quotes because my oncologist won't declare me cancer free although I did goad him into saying I was N.E.D. (no evidence of disease) on my last visit. Isn't that great?! Life is good and I am blessed. What more could a girl ask for? (except maybe a new Porsche and some diamond earrings...)

Ring that bell!

It's been exactly 20 months since I completed 28 rounds of radiation. At that time, Piedmont Radiation Oncology was located in an older facility. (They moved to the main hospital about a month after I completed treatment.) While at the new facility today for my checkup, I noticed a beautiful, gold bell on the wall. The receptionist told me it was called a "battle bell." Typically, she said, when a breast cancer survivor completes treatment, she rings the bell and everyone in the office hears it and applauds. There had been no bell in the old facility so I never had the honor of ringing it. When I completed treatment there, my only reward was knowing radiation was over and being handed a certificate of completion. 

Me ringing the battle bell at the radiology office

As I was admiring the bell today, the nurse asked if I'd like to ring it since I'd never had the chance when my treatments were completed. I smiled the biggest smile and she asked me to give her my phone. (I hadn't intended on really ringing the bell since it'd been 20 months since I had finished up, but just as she was about to take the photo, I figured why not?! I'd earned the right to ring that bell and I was going to do it.) I grabbed the rope and gave it a firm swing to the right. When I did, the bell pealed and a loud, beautiful sound resonated through the office complex. Everyone who heard it came out of their offices and gave me a big round of applause. I felt so humbled and so honored at the same time. It was amazing and was the perfect way to end my morning of medical visits. I was even happier when I was told I didn't need to report back for one year! Now if I can just get the same good news when I go my oncologist at the end of the month...I'm keeping my fingers crossed!

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