This Week’s Digest

I have a bad habit of torturing myself with what has come and gone. It often sounds like this: “Last week at this time, I was waking up on vacation; now I’m…” “Last month at this time, I was getting ready [for something wonderful]; now it’s over.” I’ve done a fair amount of looking back during my breast cancer treatment, not always to torture myself, but rather to reflect on and take note of all the changes in my life and in my body.

Lying in bed this morning, my mind did a lot of, “Last week at this time…” and I’m happy to say, that today, I came out on top.

Last week at this time, I was struggling to get out of bed mornings and sometimes not getting out of bed much at all. Now, even though I admit it often feels hard upon waking to face my life and my day, I do get up, every single time, and once I do, I feel okay. Sometimes even joyful. And either way, more solid.

Last week at this time, I was barely moving my left arm, never lying on my left
Image 1side, and wary of hugs. Now I am still tender on and a bit protective of my left side, but
I can reach and lift and hug and carry again.

Last week at this time, I was still more exhausted post-surgery than I was through chemo, and when I got out of bed, it was to spend most of my day on the couch. This week, I went for three, two-mile runs. I also went to the farmer’s market and bowling in Shelburne Falls and to a school assembly and out to lunch with friends, and this weekend, I am going to the mountains with my family.

Last week, I cried in my radiation oncologist’s waiting room, so desperate to be done with all of this, so desperate for things to be a little easier. This week, I took it in stride that I have to go to Boston (a couple of hours away) for another opinion about how to proceed with radiation. (My radiation oncologist is torn about whether or not to radiate my lymph nodes. Torn about whether the risk that would bring to my heart and lungs outweighs the risk of cancer recurrence. I’m trying not to think about that too much—that those are my options: either potentially damaging my heart and lungs or potentially dealing with breast cancer again.) And I am taking it in stride that if I radiate my lymph nodes, and if my heart is too close to those nodes, I may have to do my radiation in Boston (where they have a machine for better protecting the heart). Getting treatment in Boston would mean figuring out how to spend most of summer there since I can’t (or won’t) drive four hours every day for six weeks of radiation.

Last week at this time, I was physically and emotionally stopped. Now, I am on the move again, slowly returning to a life outside the confines of my home and my head.

Pathology Report, Birthdays, Doctors I Adore, and Breast Cancer Be Damned

I realize that a couple of posts ago I wrote about needing radiation without explaining why, which I will attempt to do now. The good news is that the results of my post-surgery pathology report are positive (or so I understand—after getting a medical run-down of the report, I did need to ask, “So, is that good news or bad?”).

As far as the doctors know, they removed whatever cancer remained—and what remained was much smaller than what the MRI showed pre-chemo, meaning I responded well to the chemo. They got “good margins,” meaning there was a good buffer of cancer-free tissue surrounding the extracted, cancerous tissue, reducing concerns about any lingering cancer cells being left behind. There was no cancer in my lymph nodes. There was, however, scarring in one of my lymph nodes, which is a sign that there might have been cancer there before the chemo eradicated it. Which is both good news and bad: good, of course, that the cancer has been eradicated; bad because knowing it might have been in one of my lymph nodes was the tipping point for needing radiation. (Though my understanding now—which was not my understanding in October when Josh and I first met with the radiation oncologist—is that radiation likely would have been recommended regardless, because of how young I am and how wide-spread the cancer was throughout my left breast.) The radiation is meant to kill any free-floating cancer cells that might remain.

What else is going on this week? Pretty much I alternate between tears and rage; bed and couch (or a doctor’s office).

My baby girl (who isn’t a baby anymore) turns 7 on Saturday, and I always make a big deal out of birthdays. But this year, it looks like I won’t be able to pull off very much. On Tuesday night, I was slammed with pain like I hadn’t felt since the hours just after my surgery. As careful as I thought I was being, apparently I overdid it. So I’m back on more or less total bed rest. I must have slept for 20 hours yesterday, all doped up again on pain meds. I’m feeling better physically today but terrified about doing too much and hence 1) postponing my healing even more and 2) missing out altogether on Sophie’s birthday celebrations.

I can’t say that the increased pain, bed rest and narcotics have done much to improve my emotional state.

I saw my oncologist, Dr. Katz, on Tuesday, who is starting me on my 10 years of Tamoxfin. Maybe it won’t be a big deal at all. Or maybe it’ll give me massive mood swings and hot flashes to top off all the other joys of the last seven months.

When I asked about our next appointment, she said she’d see me again in about 3 months. “Three months?!” I exclaimed, with great disappointment. (I would rather 3 weeks. Or 3 days.) I really like Dr. Katz. She is smart and direct and patient and kind and makes me feel like I am not only in the best of hands, but that I am a real-life human being about whom she genuinely cares. I actually look forward to seeing her, which is a big deal, because I can’t think of when else I’ve looked forward to going to the doctor.

Though I might be looking forward to seeing Dr. Parikh, my plastic surgeon, tomorrow. (I say “might” only because I’m pretty sure he’s going to tell me he can’t take out my surgical drain yet, which brings me back to the tears, rage, couch and bed.) I like him as much as I like Dr. Katz: a lot. The first time I met him, he blew apart all my stereotypes about plastic surgeons. He, too, is kind and patient and humane on top of very smart and very good at his job. What ultimately put me at ease about my surgery was knowing he would be in the room with me. (Which is to say nothing at all negative about the surgeon who performed my mastectomy. He, too, struck me as surprisingly kind and gentle for a surgeon—there I am exposing my stereotypes again—and he apparently did an excellent job. I would recommend him (Dr. Arenas) in a heartbeat. But I only met him once, briefly, whereas I met with, emailed with, even ran into Dr. Parikh often; which is why his presence, like Dr. Katz’s, feels like a safe place for me to land these days.)

ImageMy bed is a safe place to land, as well, but I sure am getting sick of it. Why this didn’t happen during chemo, I don’t know. Why I traveled through the first 6 months of treatment feeling more or less okay (and sometimes even strangely wonderful) emotionally, and am now hitting a wall, hard, I don’t know. But that I am: hitting a wall, hard. I am sick of the inside of my house. Sick of being so unavailable to my kids. Sick of feeling crappy. Sick, sick, sick of breast cancer. (Thanks, Greg, for the “screw cancer” poster.)