3 years out

There is something about the late hours of night that make me stop and write--Yesterday (okay, now that it's 12:53 a.m. it was technically two days ago) or October 2, 2010 was the three year mark of my official diagnosis of Breast Cancer--one phrase that played a very important role that day was "highly treatable and survivable". Even with those reassuring words--the word cancer trumps all! Cancer makes people automatically think you are going to die--and while that is true in many cases, luckily mine was highly treatable and survivable. I remember one wise friend commenting that at least I got cancer in a disposable organ.....that made me laugh a little bit, and realize that there was some serious truth in that remark. Breasts are removable and replaceable...but perhaps not with the ease that I assumed three years ago.

Here I am three years out and still wondering why I easily cry when I hear that someone has been recently diagnosed with breast cancer--it's not really a concern or sadness about loosing a breast--those really are replaceable--...but the realization that a new "sister" is on the journey to becoming a breast cancer survivor--and that journey is no walk in the park. As a knee jerk reaction, I want to somehow shield and protect my new "sister" from what she is preparing to face, but in reality I know that the journey is hers alone to pursue. There are no comforting answers, or self-help books that will help her along each step of the process, there is no advice I can give that will truly provide relief because her journey will be uniquely hers--even though we are fighting the same disease. I want to warn her that the treatment is the easy part and that learning to live after treatment is finished is harder than she thinks it will be....but then again shouldn't I let her believe that this healing process will be fast and easy because she is strong and amazing??.....like I thought it would be 3 years ago.

How was I to know that the chemo and radiation would be just the start of the healing process???-the part that was scheduled and organized and predictable, the part that was full of friends and family supporting and a cheering section of medical specialists and valet parking attendants. Who knew that I would feel lost and alone when the last radiation appointment on Friday June 13th, 2008 finally arrived.

I was so thrilled to be finished...and so sure that I felt "GREAT"--I threw myself an amazing "CELEBRATE LIFE" Party. In spite of Ken's worry that perhaps no one would come, I invited all my neighbors and friends and family, all the people who had prayed, brought food, purchased pink items for me, gave me tips for surviving, fixed my girls' hair and got them to school and the list goes on. My Dad came down from Idaho to help me celebrate my survival and treatment completion. We toasted life with sparkling cider, ate yummy food, and had a pink silly string fest. I celebrated until all the guests left and then went to bed exhausted and spent the next week recouperating and cleaning up from my party.

I started to exercise again and expected to be back to my old self within 6 months....wow I had lofty expectations for myself! In defense of my physicians', they said it would take at least a year...but I was sooo healthy and fit when I was diagnosed I was sure that were exaggerating just so I wouldn't get discouraged. For the RECORD, I'm blogging to remind myself in 10 years that it really took a good LONG time to recover and even get back to a portion of what I was 2 months after my 38th birthday when I had both my breasts ( and shortly thereafter my braces) removed. Recovering has been a journey much longer and harder than I anticipated--oh, yeah, did I mention before that I'm a slow learner?

My body didn't just bounce back--it's been a fight to get it back to where it wants to move and exercise. I was starting to think it was not humanly possible to get out of bed before 9 am ...that 12 hours of sleep still wasn't enough and that I might actually enjoy exercising again, and be able to exercise with my heart rate above 125 for longer than 10 minutes, and without requiring a 1 or 2 hour nap in the afternoon to have the ability to make it through the rest of the evening.

I had no idea that I would miss going to treatment (did I mention that they valet parked my car 5 days a week for 6 weeks???? I loved those cute college kids who parked and picked up my car everyday)--all those docs and support staff knew my story and knew me...they were my monthly friends for chemo and daily friends for radiation, they understood what treatment was doing to me physically and emotionally better than any of my non-breast cancer friends or family did. They hugged me, smiled at me and cheered me on (and got paid for it!) while all my friends and family were busy living their own lives. I took up shopping at TjMaxx on my way home from radiation so I didn't have to think too much about how alone I was on my journey to be cancer free.

Someone recently mentioned that they don't have very good information about how long or intense chemo and radiation exhaustion can be--mostly because we breast cancer patients always say " I'm doing great, I'm fine, I feel amazing" instead of fessing up to how overwhelmed and exhausted we are during the process. Are we being tough because we expect that of ourselves or because there really isn't anyone to pamper and coddle us the way we really need to be pampered and coddled?? Somewhat like my friend that gave birth to a 10 lb baby then showed up for church the next day, I carried on my volunteer and motherhood duties as if my life was a normal as ever. I patted myself on the back for cutting back ever so slightly on my reading tutoring commitments and for the fact that I didn't sign up as a weekly classroom volunteer. I even cut back in my bowling league and lined up subs for the week after chemo so I could rest (or stay home from bowling and work on my backlog of house chores) I hired the cleaning team to come in weekly and felt relieved that it was winter so I didn't have the urge to play in my gardens. I tried to keep things as normal as possible so that my kids didn't feel gypped during my cancer treatment......well at least I thought I was keeping things normal.

The truth is that 6 months after I finished all my treatments I was miserable. The day i finished treatment my family was ready to put cancer behind them and move on--in their minds I was healed and back to normal. They were feeling like cancer had superceded everything for long enough. They were ready to be doing the normal kid thing and I was trying to support that concept and show that I could keep up, even if I really couldn't. Ken was ready to move on as well. My fellow physician spouse friend put it her finger on it....your husband's an Anesthesiologist--if you are breathing and walking he feels his job is done, you are fine!

I recently attended a Survivor luncheon hosted by the Salt Lake Susan Komen Chapter--lunch was provided free to me and all my survivor sisters (perks of the disease:) and I was in a room filled with women who have or are battling breast cancer at all stages of life and in all stages of the disease. Two of my sisters are battling stage 4 with metastisis and sometimes I feel guilty that my diagnosis was early, I had insurance, I had life intact enough that I didn't have to postpone taking care of myself--I want somehow to be able to share my good fortune and save them from the continued pain and discomfort that they are subject to on a daily basis. Their bravery and courage and great attitudes amaze and inspire me and I pray daily that they will continue to get bonus days and live long past their doctors' predictions. One sister was told she had two years left--her kids are the same ages as my two oldest and she is divorced and raising them beautifully on her own. Everyday I see her smiling, because every day is a bonus, one more than she was thinking she would have 3 years ago....she started her journey about 6 months before I did, and luckily for me, she has been willing to share her wisdom and experiences with me.