"'
Cancerversary' is a word lots of survivors use to describe the day you find out you have cancer. It is a pivotal life altering moment in time that seems as big as the Grand Canyon, but far less Grand. Not sure how to celebrate such a moment, but it's certainly hard to forget it." -Rhonda Radliff (breast cancer survivor)
I found the following letter on a blog from a Cancer Survivor named Ann. She's an amazing writer. (See her original post
HERE) It was almost exactly how I feel about my Cancerversary. So I added a couple thoughts and specific memories/events that pertain to my own story- and wanted to share it here with you. It's what I wish I would have known in the beginning.
A Letter to the Newly Diagnosed
on my One Year Cancerversary
Dear Newly Diagnosed Breast Cancer Patient,
I was diagnosed with breast cancer one year ago
today. April 2nd, 2012. On this cancerversary, I thought I would
share some wisdom with you.
The first thing you need to learn about a diagnosis
of breast cancer is that you have to learn stupid terminology such as
"cancerversary."
Why an
illness has its own terminology is a mystery - but you will learn it.
Instead of recovering, you are a Survivor. You don't heal,
you have a "New Normal." You have foobs and fipples, experience chemobrain and get chemo curl. I don't know if any other illnesses have their own
phrases. But my suggestion is to learn the vocab so you won't be out of the
loop, but try not to use it in polite conversation. Discussing your foobs
with your mailman is only going to lead to confusion.
The next thing I would like to share with you is
that the fear and shock you feel right now will pass. One year ago today, I
felt it too. I know it doesn't seem like it will ever go away, and I
know you feel like every nerve ending in your body is made out of high voltage
wire. You will eat, sleep, dream, and think about nothing but Cancer for
quite some time.
I'm sorry to tell you that you will become a bore,
because it's all you will talk about. Heaven help anybody who asks how
you are doing, because you are likely to tell them. In detail. If
somebody cuts you off in traffic, you will be outraged, "How dare you?
Don't you know I have CANCER?"
But, as they say, this too shall pass. It
will gradually become just a disease you are dealing with, like diabetes or
high blood pressure - an inconvenience, but one you can manage. It's hard
to understand that during the early days, and I know you don't believe me now,
so you'll just have to trust me.
The worst part of a cancer diagnosis is the
uncertainty, and the worst part of the uncertainty is at the beginning. You are
facing an illness that can take your life. You are facing medical
procedures that are unknown and pretty darn scary. You may be facing the
loss of a body part or two, or even three, counting hair. You don't know
what any of this is like: how you'll feel, how you'll react, how your family
will deal with it. All you may know is what you've seen in the movies or
on TV. You likely will have many sleepless nights, and be on an
information hunt/overload for weeks, if not months - all to try to know what
will happen to you - to see into the future.
At some point though, you will come to terms with
the fact that knowing the future is impossible, and living with the day you
have is all you can do. You will find peace in that.
Looking back on my cancer treatment, do you know
what I remember? I remember my hubby and my kiddos shaving their Mommy
bald for family night. (How often does that ever happen?) I remember Kristen
and me laughing until we cried in the infusion room with tubes stuck up my nose.
I remember getting treats from the volunteers and catching upon my blog for hours every 3 weeks on my borrowed iPad. I
think of my oncologist's smart comments and rolling eyes as I challenged all
his treatment suggestions (I'm sure he was glad when all my treatments were
over). I think of heart-felt conversations accompanied by a few tears with Carrie,
my fav chemo nurse about what it's like to really live through cancer and how
if you haven’t experienced- you just don’t get it. I know it sounds funny
but in a way, now that it's over, I will miss going there.
I also think back on the support of so many people
- finding surprises like a new hat or a pink basket full of treats on my
doorstep when I got home, or the meals my friends contributed towards. Thinking
of heartwarming events like that take away any exhaustion you may feel at the
moment.
I wish I'd known when I started that the loss of a
breast (or two) is meaningless. They were a part of me for as long as I
could remember. Granted they were a little smaller and hung a little lower than
in my pre-Momma stage but they were mine. It was devastating to lose them. But
even losing them both, I still feel every bit the woman I did before. Now
I just get to choose what size I’d like to be each day. LOL My missing breasts
nursed my babies but in losing them, I find I can be with my babies longer.
I don't feel, as many do, that my breasts tried to kill me and so they
had to go. To use the omnipresent war
comparison - I felt that they were the battleground which had to be sacrificed
for the greater good. The land is scarred but the soul survives.
There is a lot of controversy about having a
positive attitude. A positive attitude will not change the course of your
disease, nor will it cure you, nor should you feel required to put one on all
of the time. Someone asked me if a pessimist can beat the disease, and the
answer is yes. For the most part -it's medical science that cures cancer, not attitude.
However, if you can learn to see the positives, the
humor, the blessings even, that come from this disease, than your treatment
course will be easier on you. I believe that without a doubt. Some of the
treatment won't be fun. Some may have long-lasting side effects.
But, life goes on, and you have yours. Dwelling on the negatives,
overlooking the good things, is, in my opinion, wasting your new life.
A diagnosis of cancer will change you. It may
always be in the back of your mind, and yes, nervousness and fear will again
pop-up around testing times, but you will learn to manage it and eventually
take it in stride.
And, here's the thing: it's up to you whether
cancer changes you for the better or not. It's entirely in your control.
You can't alter the fact that you have the disease, but you can choose
how you react to it.
I want to tell you that I'm very sorry that you
have to go through this. But, as horrible as it seems now, it will bring
blessings to your life that you never expected. My advice? Look for them,
even if it seems impossible.
Especially if it seems impossible.
Because, they are there.
Love, Shay
I had a 3 month follow-up visit with Dr. Thomas today. (Technically my "7 month-post mastectomy" visit or my "23 month since diagnosis" visit)
It has been 18 months since I got the phone call labeling me as a Survivor.
Another three weeks have flown by, and I headed up to the RMCC for my Herceptin treatment. I haven't felt the best this week- (not Cancer stuff but lady and headache stuff) but nothing to keep them from drugging me up. LOL Although my blood pressure ended up being a little lower than usual. Maybe that's why I've wanted to stay in bed all week? [Not that it was low enough to do anything this time]
SystolicThe top number, which is also the higher of the two numbers, measures the pressure in the arteries when the heart beats (when the heart muscle contracts).
It's been six months since my surgery to remove both my breasts. I have hesitated to include this post due to it's graphic and possible offensive nature BUT this is the reality of breast cancer with a bilateral mastectomy. And afterall the reality of My Breast Cancer Adventure is why I am keeping this record.
One thing that has been a little disappointing was the fact that I had in my head that after my surgery, I would have a perfectly flat chest. The harsh fact of scars never even crossed my mind. Stupid, I know. But it wasn't something I was expecting. Before my surgery I had came across this elegant black & white picture of this woman that had a bilateral mastectomy She's beautiful and flat chested-- flawless. That's what I was looking for. Well, at least at first glance and to an untrained (a non-mastectomy participant) eye that's what she seemed to me. Now six months down the road and with a more-than-I-ever-wanted-to-know knowledge, I can see her scars and the fact that her arms stretched up and it being printed without color gives a false impression of perfection. Interesting how we only see what we have the ability to comprehend. {Back in July, I even thought about taking the picture to my surgeon so he knew what I was expecting. I never was brave enough to take it in to him. Maybe I should have??? Oh well! Too late now. Bummer!}
