Here we are, two years later. Wow, in some ways it feels like yesterday, in other ways it feels like it was more than two years ago. Honestly I was too busy at work to really think about the significance of the day. I'm not really sure how to acknowledge this day. On one hand, it's a day that changed my life forever. But it's not a day that I want to define me. I think at this point it's going to be a day that I quietly reflect on, like any day that has significance, like the death of somebody special to me. I suppose it's a good way to center myself and see if I'm truly happy with different areas of my life. My bullshit level is still pretty low, so if something is a waste of my time, I'm pretty good at disengaging. But this is still a good time to take a step back and assess.
I just re-read what I wrote a year ago and it reminded me of something--I recently changed jobs and it's kind of nice to start with a clean slate. Nobody there knows I had cancer (unless they stumbled upon my blog in some pre-hiring Google search on me). It's empowering to know that I don't have to say anything if I don't want to.
The other thing that's kind of odd is when I started treatment, Addie was only 14 months old (in hindsight I can't even believe she was that little). I knew more of the parents of Belle's friends' parents than Addie's, and as I've talked about many times before, the girls' school was beyond amazing and supportive, as were many of the other parents of Belle's friends. But now that Addie's three(!), she's at the age of play dates and birthday parties, and I've met a lot of her friends' parents and I really like them. I'm sure I encountered these same parents at daycare drop off and pick-up during treatment, but I don't really remember doing so while I was wearing my scarves. But I'm not sure they know or remember, because they were probably just as exhausted as me because we all had babies to deal with as well as whatever other things life was throwing everybody's way at the time. And any of them who I'm now connected to on FB could see this post, but it's kind of a weird thing to share or bring up. So....if you're a parent of one of Addie's friends...hi...? Whatever, it's just kind of odd. Bring it up to me, don't bring it up to me, it doesn't matter.
Anyway, I'm starting something that I'm really excited about--I'm going to be a mentor to another woman currently going through treatment. This was a program that I tried to get involved in back in January, but for multiple reasons it just didn't work out. They're starting another session in a few weeks and I'm really excited. Ever since treatment ended I've wanted to volunteer for something like this. I'll let you know how it goes!
Friday, April 3, 2015
Sunday, March 22, 2015
"What ifs" and other thoughts
I’ve been planning on writing an update for a while but life keeps getting in the way. Funny how that happens. I had initially planned on just writing about the passing of Laurie Becklund. I had seen a post for an Op-Ed that she wrote about a month ago. Then I heard about the death of Lisa Bonchek Adams and the firestorm that she had created while blogging about her metastatic cancer. And then this article appeared in the NY Times earlier this week. All of these articles flowed together for me so this is a bit of commentary on all three of these women. I touched on similar themes in my last post, but Laurie and Suleika both expanded on these thoughts more elegantly and eloquently than me.
Should this disease ever come back, I will refer you all to Lisa's article. As an aside, I'm sure some people will be in disbelief that her doctor told her over the phone that the cancer had come back. I also initially got my diagnosis over the phone as well. Let me tell you, there is no good way to give this information. I just wanted to know and I wouldn't have gotten any more sleep if my doctor had called me that Wednesday night almost two years ago and said, "I have your results and I'd like you to come in tomorrow to discuss them." That's not good, so just tell me. I would like to think my oncologist would give me similar respect should my cancer metastasize one day.
There, I said it. I don't talk about it a lot but it's there in my head. It doesn't necessarily take up a lot of room, but it's still there. A new ache, a cough that lingers, the mind can't help but go to that place. Even though I've done everything in my power to get rid of body parts so a new cancer doesn't develop, it's not a new cancer that's scary--it's the metastasizing that's scary. Women like Lisa and Laurie's experiences personalize that scare. If it can happen to these women, why won't it happen to me?
Lisa chose to document her treatment in her blog. Two reporters didn't like this. Should that day come will I do the same thing? I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if I did. As many of you know, I'm opinionated and don't have much of a filter. When I was in treatment, I received a lot of positive feedback on my blog. I don't know if I made people uncomfortable. Those people were wise enough to not say anything to me. They may have knew me well enough to guess what my reaction would have been if they'd told me that. If you don't like something--don't read it. If it makes you uncomfortable, that's on you, not me.
It's Lisa's experience and other women whose cancer has comeback that made Suleika's article resonate so much. Whether you had the whole she-bang like me, or "just" had a mastectomy with no chemo or radiation or "just" a lumpectomy with radiation, there is a lot of support (if you're lucky) while during treatment, but very little support once active treatment is over. Technically, none of us are done with treatment because every single woman I know who's been diagnosed is on Tamoxifen or an aromatase inhibitior, depending on whether they're pre- or post-menopausal. But it's hard to feel in treatment with a pill. I digress.
I strongly encourage you to read these articles because they're so well-written. This felt more like stream-of-consciousness than a thoughtful, well-written article but thanks for reading anyway!
Should this disease ever come back, I will refer you all to Lisa's article. As an aside, I'm sure some people will be in disbelief that her doctor told her over the phone that the cancer had come back. I also initially got my diagnosis over the phone as well. Let me tell you, there is no good way to give this information. I just wanted to know and I wouldn't have gotten any more sleep if my doctor had called me that Wednesday night almost two years ago and said, "I have your results and I'd like you to come in tomorrow to discuss them." That's not good, so just tell me. I would like to think my oncologist would give me similar respect should my cancer metastasize one day.
There, I said it. I don't talk about it a lot but it's there in my head. It doesn't necessarily take up a lot of room, but it's still there. A new ache, a cough that lingers, the mind can't help but go to that place. Even though I've done everything in my power to get rid of body parts so a new cancer doesn't develop, it's not a new cancer that's scary--it's the metastasizing that's scary. Women like Lisa and Laurie's experiences personalize that scare. If it can happen to these women, why won't it happen to me?
Lisa chose to document her treatment in her blog. Two reporters didn't like this. Should that day come will I do the same thing? I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if I did. As many of you know, I'm opinionated and don't have much of a filter. When I was in treatment, I received a lot of positive feedback on my blog. I don't know if I made people uncomfortable. Those people were wise enough to not say anything to me. They may have knew me well enough to guess what my reaction would have been if they'd told me that. If you don't like something--don't read it. If it makes you uncomfortable, that's on you, not me.
It's Lisa's experience and other women whose cancer has comeback that made Suleika's article resonate so much. Whether you had the whole she-bang like me, or "just" had a mastectomy with no chemo or radiation or "just" a lumpectomy with radiation, there is a lot of support (if you're lucky) while during treatment, but very little support once active treatment is over. Technically, none of us are done with treatment because every single woman I know who's been diagnosed is on Tamoxifen or an aromatase inhibitior, depending on whether they're pre- or post-menopausal. But it's hard to feel in treatment with a pill. I digress.
I strongly encourage you to read these articles because they're so well-written. This felt more like stream-of-consciousness than a thoughtful, well-written article but thanks for reading anyway!
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