One year, nine months and three days later...

Wow, it's been a year since I finished treatment.  That flew by.  There have been a few more surgeries since then--I'm now ovary-less and post-menopausal and of course I have my new boobs, courtesy of my stomach fat.  I still miss my ovaries, my stomach fat not so much.

It was nice to re-read my post from this time last year. I initially almost missed this anniversary--for some reason I thought it was December 2.  I take that as a good sign, although I'm pretty sure it's still going to be awhile before I forget the anniversary of my diagnosis. So many anniversaries, so little time.

I still lurk on a breast cancer listserv that I joined during treatment.  There have been two recent articles/discussions that have been of interest to me lately and seemed appropriate for this post on the first post-treatment year.  One was on self-blame and cancer and the other was the pressure to move on after treatment.

Self-blame and cancer
Perhaps because of my BRCA2 status, I've never done a lot of reflection on what I could have done differently to prevent my cancer diagnosis.  It just didn't seem like a worthwhile activity because I don't have a time travel machine to go back in time anyway (if you have a time travel machine and would like to share, please let me know).  The only thing I probably could have done differently was have a preventive mastectomy.  But I probably would have only done that if I had said time machine. The thing that I worry about the most is that my worrying about my cancer coming back will become a self-fulfilling prophecy, so I try to avoid that, but that can be easier said than done.

Post-treatment support
If anything, the things that I still struggle with the most are the things that were taken away from me as a result of my BRCA2 status and diagnosis.  Even if I hadn't had my ovaries removed, I wouldn't be allowed to carry any of my own children because I'd be on Tamoxifen.  Yes, I'm very blessed with my two little girls and they are more than a handful, and I'm not even sure we would have actually had more children, but the point is the choice was taken away from me.  The removal of my ovaries made me post-menopausal in an instant.  This has its own joys.

The end of treatment was anti-climatic.  I got a nice little goodie bag from the radiation office and sort of got pushed back into "regular life".  Part of me welcomed this transition back to "regular life" with open arms.  But I also remember thinking "now what?"

There is definitely a lack of resources for post-cancer treatment (at least in breast cancer). Or these resources aren't directed at people that work during the day as they seem to happen in the middle of the day.  And I live in a part of the country where I had the luxury of choosing from a handful of great places for treatment.  I can't imagine what it's like for people who live in areas with limited treatment options, let alone post-treatment resources.  I can understand why many women stay on listservs such as the one I've stayed connected to just to be part of a group that understands all of the above.  Which isn't to say that I couldn't talk to any friends about this, but I think a lot of people don't know what to say.  Which is perfectly fine, because I wouldn't know what to say either.

Other things
I get a lot more upset now when I hear of people dying from this horrible disease.  When Diem Brown passed away, it hung over me for a few weeks. (I'll save my rant on the language around "losing her battle".  I HATE that saying.)  I also get sad and frustrated when I hear about a friend's friend/family member dying.

I miss the people that I connected with during treatment.  I see many of these people still but not all of them.  What I do like is still seeing these people and not having the whole cancer thing hang over the conversation.  There are people I've met since treatment that have no idea I had cancer until I tell them (or maybe they do but I don't know they know).  It's a nice feeling to not be that person anymore.  

I'm not sure this post makes a lot of sense.  It's taking more concentration than I have right now.  The aforementioned children are alternating between having fun, complaining about being hungry and making a mess so they keep taking away my focus (how DARE they!).

So let's raise a glass to...whatever.  When I was looking for a picture of a glass of champagne, I found this little gem:

 

Moving on

Okay, enough with self-pity and guilt.  Thanks for all of the support the last few days.  Today's a new and better day.  I have President's Day off for work, so it's an another day to relax.  I went for a little walk, hopefully I'll be able to catch up with an old friend later today, and we'll see where the rest of the day takes me.  We'll take the girls to my in-laws tonight and the girls will have a blast there for the next two days.  I'm ready to go back to work tomorrow.  It's time to move on with my life.   

New beginnings

As I mentioned in my last post, a few weeks back I did a 5K with some friends.  Actually, now that I look at the calendar it was almost a month ago.  While the day didn't go quite as I had hoped it would, it was still a good day overall.  I was very pleased with my pace (7:42 miles) and the gesture of my friends getting together to celebrate the end of this hellish journey was great.

A few weeks ago I had my post-treatment check-up with my oncologist.  It was the first time I had been back at BI since the end of treatment on October 1.  I was unprepared for the anxiety that visiting the oncology department made me feel.  Obviously I don't have great memories of the place, but my feelings still surprised me.  As much as I like my oncologist and as much time as I'll be spending with her for the rest of my life (or until she retires, which will hopefully happen first), I still wish I had never met her.

We have finally rescheduled our California trip.  We had just booked our trip to California when I got my diagnosis.  It feels like a re-do in many ways.  We head out at the end of April.  I'm very much looking forward to it.  Aaron and I are also going away to Provincetown on MLK Jr. weekend.  No Iceland trip planned yet.  This is mainly my fault because work has been so busy and I haven't really had time to think about it.

As my hair continues to grow back, one of the nice things is I don't necessarily feel like I'm "the woman with cancer" anymore.  I've ran into old friends and met new people who compliment me on my hair without knowing about the last year (at least I'm pretty sure they didn't know) and it's so nice to just accept the compliment and move on.  Sometimes I've said something, but increasingly I don't say anything.  Well, I guess I say "thank you" for the compliment.  Also, people make eye contact with me again.  When I had my scarf, nobody would look at me in the aisles of Trader Joe's or in the hallway outside of work.  It was a very strange feeling to feel invisible but know that people were probably looking at me when I wasn't looking at them.

A lot of people have asked me if I'm going to keep my hair short.  I really have no idea.  I feel like it's in a very awkward phase right now.  I'm back to having to spend time on it in the morning.  It's not a bad problem to have, just something I haven't had to deal with for several months.


We had a good Christmas but words can't express how happy I was for New Years.  I actually started this post a week or two ago but never finished it.  As I read on what I've written in this post I can't help but think how boring my life has become.  Well, as boring as my life gets I suppose.  I love boring!

Nine months and three days later...

Sorry for the weird formatting.  It drives me crazy when Blogger doesn't format correctly...
 
I was diagnosed with cancer nine months and three days ago.  I had my last radiation treatment this morning.  I took the day off from work, but any big plans to celebrate have been postponed because Aaron’s grandmother passed away and her wake is tonight and her funeral is tomorrow.  I did get a manicure and I went for a long walk.  I also finished putting up our outside Christmas decorations.  I’ve had a productive day and I love productivity, so say overall it’s been a great day.

I’ve been very reflective today.  I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this past year and everything I’ve been through.  I’m relieved, tired, even kind of overwhelmed at everything that has happened.  I also feel more confident that I’m going to look back on this time as a blip in the road and I’m less scared of a re-occurrence.  I think I have to, because otherwise I’m just going to waste time worrying about things I don’t have control over.  I’m sure I’ll have my moments, but I’m feeling really good.  I think getting my energy back has made a huge difference.

I’m hoping that the next month will be a chance to celebrate with various friends that have been so amazingly supportive this year.  When I think back on the friends that I’ve made here in Massachusetts the last 11 years, the majority of them I met while working out.  For many years I had my boot camp friends and now that I live in Natick, I have my TBS friends.  On Sunday I’m doing a 5k with a bunch of my TBS friends in Cambridge.  They made shirts and everything!  I’m really looking forward to that, especially in the light of the sad news of the passing of Aaron’s Meme.  I had my first race since treatment started on Thanksgiving and I did much better than I thought I was going to.  Of course, I’m already pressuring myself to do better at this Sunday’s race.  I’ll let you know how it goes!

At this point I’m looking forward to, well, looking forward.  I’m going to enjoy the rest of the holiday season, but I’m really excited for New Year’s Eve.  I hope I can pay forward all of the kindness and generosity I’ve been touched with this year.  I have many amazing people in my life—I am a very lucky woman!

Homestretch

Written last week but never posted...at this point I only have two treatments left!  I'm still a little amazed that I'm as excited as I am.  I wasn't expected to be this excited.

This week I hit the single digits in the number of radiation treatments left.  Two weeks from today, barring no machine breakdowns or snow storms or a pause in treatment because my skin is too red, I will be done with radiation and "active treatment".

I didn't think I was going to be this excited, but at this point, I really am.  Of course, I'm doing a race with some friends on Sunday, December 8.  If my treatment gets pushed past that, that would kind of stink, since part of the point of the race is to celebrate being done with treatment.

So cross your fingers and toes! 

New diagnosis: Hypochondria

On Tuesday it will be three weeks since chemo ended.  Radiation starts on Tuesday.  Tuesday also marks the day I get to start Tamoxifen (I love Wikipedia's definition--antagonist of the estrogen receptor in breast tissue).  I have been told anecdotally that mood swings are a side effect of Tamoxifen, so if I interact with you in the next few weeks and suddenly burst into tears, that is most likely why.

While I still have 6 weeks left of active treatment, the end of chemo has been the first time since April that I feel like I've finally noticed my surroundings.  Which has provided a hint of what my post-cancer life may become: thinking that every ache and pain is a new cancer.  For example, earlier this week my stomach hurt.  This inevitably led me to wonder, "what are the symptoms of ovarian cancer"?  Turns out, stomach pain is a symptom.  Stomach pain is also just plain stomach pain too, but it led me to wonder, "what if when my ovaries are removed next year, they find I have ovarian cancer too?"
 A rational person would likely think, "Rachele, that's silly.  You probably don't have ovarian cancer."  Well you know what?  I don't like odds anymore.  I never in a million years thought I'd have breast cancer and look how that turned out.  While I'm really getting morbid, if I'm unlucky enough to get breast cancer, then it also means I'm unlucky enough to have something terrible happen to Aaron, the girls, my parents or my friends too.  This is how I think nowadays.  Basically, I don't feel safe anymore.  If I can get cancer, then lots of other bad things can happen too.

To add to this feeling, some of you have asked what happens when treatment is all over.  How will I be monitored moving forward to make sure I don't have to go through this again?  At a high level, my team basically monitors how I'm feeling.  There might be tests here and there, but there really aren't any tests or scans that are done on a regular basis.  Basically, you just have to have faith that it will get caught before it gets too far.  This has outraged and frustrated some of you, to which I usually think, if it makes you feel that way, how do you think I feel?

So that's what's been consuming me this week.  I did call my oncologist about my stomach pains and they're getting me in to see the doctor that will be removing my ovaries.  The intent is to put me more at ease (I think).  I'll let you know.

In the meantime, at least I can shift my idle mind onto radiation.  As I told some friends earlier this week, I'm pretty sure there are already notes about me in my file at the radiation office.  But that's a blog post for another day.