“Once you see it you cannot unsee it.”

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Replace the words ‘see/unsee’ with anything… How does your new statement impact your perspective? How would it change the way you make decisions? Try it. Try it with the easy words. Try it with the most difficult concepts. 

Hit that pause button….what happens?

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This Day in 2018:

Next Year

Today has been a tough day. I have felt awful. My body is wrecked. My mind is exhausted. My spirit is worn thin. 

I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m not sure if it’s my body just totally rebelling against the chair….or if it was the fact that my brain was struggling to quiet down… As 2:30 am rolled around, and the best I had been able to do was 15 or so minute little cat naps every hour, I found myself thinking deeply about where I was a year ago. 

My one-year anniversary of diagnosis is coming up so I’ve been more preoccupied by the last year as of late. A year ago, I had found the lump and was hoping it was nothing. A year ago, I went with my family on our annual Michigan vacation hoping that it was the magic that would make it go away so that when we all got home, it would be gone and I could forget all about it. A year ago, instead I had found another one while on our trip. A year ago, we got home and that would be the beginning of yet another major life crisis because a year ago I was still reeling from the emotional crisis of January through…well….April.

That string of thoughts then took me into replaying my cancer story-to-date in my head. Breast exam. Mammogram and ultrasound. [Car accident.] Biopsy. Diagnosis. Doctor’s consultations. Surgery scheduling. Bilateral mastectomy. Port placement. Chemo #1. The countdown to my head being shaved. My purple wig. Chemo hell. Radiation breathing. Radiation burns. Acupuncture. Physical therapy. Sleeping in a chair. Not remembering the last time I slept well. Reconstruction…part 1. And all of the ‘stuff’ in-between.

And the waiting. Oh the waiting. Through it all…..the waiting. Around every corner………….more waiting. 

I remember hearing “Next year it’ll look different…” “Next year you’ll look back on all of this and it’ll be behind you….” “Next year…” I’m still hearing “next year…” a year later. 
Next year I’ll be done with reconstruction.
Next year I’ll be done with infusion treatments. 
Next year I’ll have long hair.
Next year I’ll have eyelashes. 
Next year I’ll be half-a-year into a 5-year maintenance plan of oral chemo meds every day. 
I can’t go to Michigan with my family this year. I cried about it today. A lot. The excitement of an upcoming trip is palpable in the house. The girls are antsy to get to the airplane. Chris is making plans with his brother. Next year, though. Next year………..

Turns out…a lot happens in a year. 

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This Day in 2019:

Literal Overnight

My oncology appointment went surprisingly well today. The results of the CT scan were all good and the doc was supportive of my decision to stop taking Anastrozole…. We also learned a couple of new things today – negative hormone receptor cancer doesn’t really have a maintenance/reduce risk for recurrence recommendation. Pretty much everything that is done to kill the cancer during treatment is as good as it’s gonna get and if cancer comes back, it comes back within the first few years. Hormone positive cancer has a chance for recurrence much later after treatment due to the presence of hormone still in the body, hence the need for maintenance meds. Well…I sit at one of my four tumors being 9% estrogen positive and the others being negative; with that low of a positive marker, my doc was supportive of my quality-of-life decision based on the fact that while the benefit of the maintenance meds are real, they are low in my case. So, Chris and I felt very validated in our decision and I’m grateful we weren’t on the receiving end of attitude or disappointment. 

Then the doc did an exam and when she turned around to see me without my shirt, she exclaimed how amazing my tattoo was and how excited she was for me to have it completed. That was sweet. 

Then I went to the infusion room to get my 2^nd of 8 Zomeda infusions…. I saw my favorite onco nurse, Angela, and we got to catch each other up on our lives (it’s been 6 months since I’ve seen her). One of the first things I did, showed her my new ink. She loved it, too. Then Chris asked me just how many people I planned on flashing today. HA!

It did get me thinking, though …… interesting that this tattoo, literally overnight, has changed my perspective. How I was so eager to share it and tell the story of what it all means. How different that is from where I was just yesterday, where I couldn’t imagine showing anyone the ugliness that cancer left behind. 

On that note, I’m going to bed. Grateful for today, hopeful that Zomeda doesn’t wreck my week, prayerful that my test goes well. 

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No Post for 7/15/20

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