Silly Girl

When I first talked to my medical team after confirming my cancer diagnosis, I was given a rough timeline. Surgery sometime in late April, radiation in June, hormone treatment somewhere in there, reconstructive surgery in September. (Treatable!) 

I found it reassuring to have a timeline for getting through the treatment, and blocked fun things into the treatment gaps. My initial surgery happened on schedule, all went well. I met with the radiation oncologist last week to talk about next steps, she reiterated that radiation would happen in June. Then her nurse called to schedule the radiation prep appointment which needs to happen two weeks before radiation can begin. 

"Mid-June work for you?"   **ARRGGGHHHH**

No, it couldn't happen before mid-June, all the slots were blocked. Nothing to be done, just part of being caught in the medical system.

What??? We've known this appointment needed to happen since early April. If there was going to be a problem getting me into the calendar, could we not have set up the appointment then, and moved it if there was a complication???

*sigh*   Too late now. What's (not) done is done.

Radiation will now happen in July. Lexi is also coming in July. 

Rumor has it most people don't have problems with radiation, but. Some people do. She's spent the last nine months watching her mom battle this same disease. I wanted to shield her from 'getting' to watch me hit a wall. 

*another sigh*   IF I hit that wall, we'll figure something out. (We. My people will help me.)

This also means reconstructive surgery needs to be moved - possibly to October, if not then, it'll be March.   **huge, heavy, sigh**

All because of sloppy scheduling.

As I was dropping off a box of food with my local food pantry, I was ranting about all the above to the lady who runs the mission; I've gotten to know and like her over the couple of years we've been interacting.

She said, speaking of herself, "Whenever I think I can control life, something happens. I stop and tell myself, 'Silly girl, thinking you could have controlled this. You know better. Life cannot be controlled.'"

I stopped. I laughed. She is absolutely right.

Every time my delusions of control are shattered, I hate it. I rant. I rave. I stew. Every time. 

Time to remind myself I do know the only thing I can control in my life is my reaction to what happens.

Silly girl.  

*she feels a wry smile on her face, then begins to take steps to adjust to what is and move on.*

Healing

The cancer medical teams at least try to be nice. I mean, they give you time to heal up before they do their best to make you sick again. That's something, right?

I talked to my radiation oncologist this morning. I will get another month to heal before they begin zapping my chest. 16 sessions, I will have.

I am more than a bit apprehensive, but.

She said, without radiation, the chances of my cancer recurring again within a few years are 20 - 25%. (Yikes!) With it, those chances drop to under 5%. I like those odds a lot better, so I'll face down my fears and show up when the time comes.

In the meantime. Here I am. Waiting. My favorite part.

I seem to have fallen off the path of "Not Yet" in the chaos of the past few weeks. Which makes sense, because Yet came. But it also went, and I'm ready to find my way back to Not Yet until the next thing starts.

I feel fine, physically. I was cleared for exercise last week, and movement has begun to work its magic. I'm sleeping better and my creaking joints are thinking about realigning themselves. Give it another week, and I'll be good as new.

Mental recovery has proven to be a bit more of a challenge. I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop. (Another shoe? The Being of the Universe in charge of dropping shoes to disrupt people's lives clearly isn't just grabbing the shoes off their feet, because I've had more than two shoes drop on my head in quick succession here. Maybe they are just kneeling in their closet, tossing the pairs that no longer spark joy over their shoulders? Maybe they have more than two feet?)

I digress.

Tomorrow will get here soon enough.

Time to get back to reveling in the gift which is today.

Graduation Season

I have several graduation parties to attend these next few weeks; had a delightful evening this past Saturday as I joined the people from my old neighborhood in congratulating Eve as she crosses this significant life threshold.

I watched her for a bit as she warmly greeted her guests. So happy, her face, her whole body, proclaiming her joy in accomplishment - it did my heart good just to bask in her reflected light.

As I sat for a moment, my thoughts wandered back through the years. I could feel the echoes of her joy in my soul. And then I wondered how it can possibly have been more than forty years since I walked across a similar stage.

Every time I come across those memes which ask me what advice I'd give my eighteen year-old self, I draw a complete and utter blank. 

I'd feel a total hypocrite if I focused on the sunshine unicorn rainbow part of life. I mean, I smile every time those memories bubble to the surface, but they are all the more precious because they are the rare gems which have brought sparkle to my days.

Long-ago me wouldn't understand the value I now place on the pile of ordinary days which make up most of my memories. They are a jumble of ordinary rocks; the days I can only remember the sense, rather than the details, of. If you pick one up and study it, there is (usually) beauty there. As a heap, they are unmemorable. But. They are the background of the mosaic of my life story; without them the rest of the picture makes no sense. So precious.

I couldn't bear to tell her of the hard days ahead, those caches of sharp-edged stones which have cut so deeply as they were added to the picture. Best to stumble into those as they come - no need to worry in advance. 

I do wish I could give her the box of coping mechanisms I've developed along the way. These are the tools which enable me to step back and make sense of the developing picture as new stones are added to the story of my life. Sometimes, I can even use them to help shape the image. But like all tools, they are only useful if one understands what they are used for, and has a need to use them, so probably best she picks them up along the way.

Nope. No helpful advice from this corner. Young me is just going to have to figure out life the same way old(er) me is still working to figure it out - one step at a time.

The Easy Part

Surgery to remove my tumor was last Monday. It didn't take long at all - they started just before 10, and I was home for a late lunch! What the surgeon found matched the scans - the tumor was close to the surface and still well contained. Clean margins were not an issue.

*huge sigh of relief*

I took one heavy duty painkiller that first night, but after that, just needed Tylenol the first three nights to quiet things down once I stopped for the day. Since then, I've taken nothing. (My pain levels have been helped by the absence of nerve endings in that part of my chest from my mastectomy surgeries.) My sister, Julia, had come into town to help me last week, and her biggest jobs turned out to be playing chauffeur and reminding me to follow the after-surgery guidelines, so the incision can heal properly. To no one's surprise, I am not good at sitting still all day.

My emotional journey has been a bit rockier. My coping method of 'Not Yet' was no longer applicable once 'Yet' arrived, and I've been riding waves of sadness and anger and fear all week.

I got a double mastectomy thirteen years ago because I wasn't sure I'd have the strength to go through cancer treatment twice. And here I am. Sh*t.

Radiation will start sometime in June - I'm not looking forward to it, but I'm not dreading it either. I'm no longer trying to hold down a job, so I'll be able to go along with the flow of fatigue (the primary side effect) rather than trying to fight it. 

I talked to my oncologist last week, which is when the emotional roller coaster started. Once I'm healed, he wants me to start taking a shot which will stop my body from using whatever estrogen is circulating in my systems (fulvestrant, it is called). It didn't help things any when I got online and read the descriptions of how the shot is administered. Once a month, in BOTH butt cheeks, and it's painful. Which, of course, brought up the ghosts of that-damn-shot. I have zero good memories of living with the side effects of 'that-damn-shot.

Fortunately, I have a lot more tools in my coping belt today than I did back then. This shot, whatever its similarities, will not be that shot. I am better at advocating for myself now. Rather than just going home and being miserable, I know I can ask for help with the side effects. Not trying to hold down a job will also ease my path. 

I do not walk this road alone. My people have lined themselves up along the course. They are cheering me on and offering support. I don't have words for how much this helps.

I know that, however miserable I am in the moment, the moment will pass. One way or another, there will be an other side to this valley. 

And, I have today. 

Today, I am (almost) pain free. 
Today, my only job is to heal. 
Today, it is spring, the sun is shining, the birds are singing. 
Today, I am here, alive!
Today, I choose not to let cancer take this day from me.

One step at a time.