A Breast Cancer Survivor’s Perspective on Breast Cancer Month

Oh October. You are a most difficult month as you hold some of my most difficult memories. And if that weren’t enough, around every corner a pink ribbon or a statistic, a “save the tatas,” or a “did you know you can prevent cancer?” .  .  . 

The duality of sweet gratitude and painful reality – both clashing in massive confusion:
A gratitude for being collectively seen and honored through an entire month-long global awareness movement……
With a reality that this long breast-cancer-vigilant month holds some of the most treacherous parts of my own personal story………

Here we go.

*Post 910

The Quiet Will Come :: 10/1/17 :: Post 34

I went to church today for the first time since surgery. I saw some of my people and it filled my soul. I didn’t sit there angry and bitter. I talked with an old-acquaintance-made-new-instant-friend about cancer and its realities, its difficulties, its upheaval; about her journey through it and she heard mine (so far). …It was good.

A word that hit me while at church today was “wait.” It was a part of the message and while the rest of the message was awesome (as usual), the word wait really stuck with me. It feels like it confirms everything I’ve experienced so far…in several different ways.

Waiting for the next decision.
Waiting for results to determine the next step.
Waiting in waiting rooms.
Waiting for the next hurdle.
Waiting on God for the “why.”
Waiting in the quietness.

Waiting implies patience. It suggests trust. It requires time. 

It was a reminder that waiting is purposeful presence. That what is in the now is vital to what comes next. That getting too far ahead when it’s too blurry is counterproductive. 

It is not a new revelation to me that waiting is hard. I’ve already written about it. I’ve acknowledged the challenge. But hearing it again today…having it be a word that held so much of my attention…reminded me that I will not know how this will all end. I will not know how tomorrow goes. I will not know how I will feel as the week goes on. I will not know how I will feel next weekend when it will be my last weekend before chemo begins. I will not know how chemo will be. I will not know how this story plays out for my girls, husband, mom, dad, family, friends. I will not know how I will work while battling. I will not know how I will walk this next part of the story.

All I know is now. And that I am only asked to patiently trust in time.

There was also another word that sunk in a little deeper today. As I was texting with a friend, he mentioned that the quiet I have been learning to sit in will bring something new and treasured as it has changed me. I agree. I feel I see quiet differently now more than ever before. There is something sacred in the quiet and I yearn for it…even when it’s the hardest place to be. The quiet can be a specific time, place and activity…but it can also be found and experienced in the midst of chaos. It can be a soul thing, not just a body thing. 

I feel this has particular meaning to me today as I look at a week ahead of huge unknowns. Working…being productive…business as usual… I love my job, but it is a hard one. It is constantly social. It is consistently unstable. It requires continuous problem-solving. It is crisis management, it is client-focused, it is bridging the gap for people in traumatically hard places, it is chaotic. And I live a lot of life before work even starts, and I come home to a lot of life after work. I return to what “was” before my life was turned upside-down and inside-out and backwards.

I will be in a space to learn and walk what I think this quiet is. Finding a space, time and activity to create quiet, yes. THAT I will have to do just to survive the days, weeks, months ahead. A time-out, a walk around the block, a safe space for a needed emotional reset. 

But also, practicing quiet in the chaos. There is a such a depth to this for me. That when things are spinning around me……..or in me………that I can still seek the refuge of the sacred quiet. A quietness to my being, my presence, my soul. 

I hear my friend’s words and I think:

As I sit with a client…or my children…or my husband…or my friends, I know what it feels like to just sit. Words are not always necessary. I did “silence” before. I will practice “quiet” now.

As I answer questions or problem-solve with coworkers…or my children…or my husband…or my friends, I will value stillness before answering. I did the “pause” before. I will practice “quiet” now. 

As I am all of these things all of the time wife…parent…daughter…friend…counselor…cancer-fighter, I will navigate new normals every moment. I did “boundaries” before. I will practice “quiet” now. 

I have something evolving in my soul that only this place could have taught me. That only God could have orchestrated for me. If I am true to what I said from the very beginning of not wanting to waste this as I know He won’t, then this [the depth of the meaning of quietness] is certainly one purpose I can practice.

That said, I didn’t do such a good job of this today. It was a busy day. It was a social day. And I definitely hit a wall… And it hit hard. And it makes me apprehensive for the journey ahead. 

Yet, I wait because I trust the quiet will come. 

Tomorrow is a new day. 

I’ll try again.

Eighteen of Eighteen :: 10/1/18 :: Post 383

My social media post for today:

18 of 18. Feeling all of the feelings.

Amazed we’ve come this far. Weirdly glad it’s not a complete goodbye of my amazing care team. Acknowledging the losses of the past year. Grateful for all of the gains.

Every 21 days for a year, every third Monday for the past 52 weeks, 18 total rounds of chemo…this past many months has had quite a routine. And now I’m looking at a new routine, and officially starting a new chapter of survivorship.

God is good. Even in the trenches. Thank you, Army, for continuing to hold us close. Thank you, mom and dad, for being the glue that has held us together. Thank you, husband and daughters, for walking e v e r y s t e p faithfully with me and never wavering.

During chemo, Chris “had to go to the bathroom”…….. I came to find out that he met my mom out in the parking lot and they decorated our car and she left a sweet (and incredibly generous) LAST CHEMO gift for me. It filled my heart. It was perfect for me. I didn’t want a huge party but I also didn’t want it to be like any other day. It was such a highlight, so lovingly and thoughtfully done. And by far, the best part of my day. 

Then we went to a delicious lunch…..to a restaurant that does magic with biscuits. Mmmmmm. I literally stopped dead in my tracks with my first bite. And both Chris and I said a little ‘thank you’ for being able to enjoy good food….because we so vividly remember a time where it wasn’t like that. And how dreadful that was.

Then we returned to Rose for my port to be removed. That was an interesting experience. I met 6 new medical people that took very good care of me. But being conscious for a procedure like this was so not lovely. When they put the port in, they sedated me slightly…which was nice. Today, no such sedation. The stinging pain of the local anesthetic…the pressure of the tugging and digging….the pulling of the thread as he stitched a hole in my chest back together. I was working really hard to keep it together and remain pleasant as he was shooting the breeze with me all the while he was digging this thing out of my chest that had become a part of me over the past year. 

After the procedure, the nurse showed me my port and told me that the tube was threaded into my jugular and then the end of the tube hung directly into my heart. That freaked me out. I think I sort of knew that when they put it in, but the show-and-tell today made my stomach churn. Directly into my heart. Chemo drugs, harsh and toxic, directly into my heart. 

Tonight, I lay here, not feeling well. I’m emotionally drained. My head hurts. My tummy is upset. The hole in my chest is hurting. And I am reminded that while today was my last infusion, I have some days ahead that are unpleasant. And the cycle isn’t over until 21 days are over. Then. THEN chemo is fully behind me. THEN I can breathe a little easier. I certainly still have much to celebrate today and from the depths of my core, I am grateful I am here to celebrate.

October 1 of 31 :: 10/1/19 :: Post 746

October is one of my favorite months and I welcome it with open arms…and the fact that today was a cloudy and drizzly day made it just perfect. 

October is also colored with very difficult memories. Chemo started in October. My head was shaved in October….

As the years go by, the intensity of the memories diminishes little by little, but the wretchedness of cancer still stings no matter how far out I get. 

And here’s to Breast Cancer Awareness Month…

…Day one – everyone will walk this differently. Some will deeply process. Others will escape. Give people space to walk it as they walk it.