The Thankfulness Edition

In honor of Thanksgiving, I felt it appropriate to write a "thankfulness" edition of my cancer blog. (We will no longer be referring to Lucille, because she technically no longer exists. Good riddance!) I truly have a lot to be thankful for this year, so please bear with me while I selfishly list them out for you.

1. My cancer is gone! I am completely done with treatments and now fall into "follow-up" mode. Yeah!
2. I am thankful for the power of the body to heal. For the first time this past weekend, I was able to clean my whole house and just today, I was able to jog on the treadmill with no pain. Miraculously, my skin is returning to normal. (If you thought I posted the turkey in honor of Thanksgiving, think again! In actuality, the turkey's face flab is the best approximation of what my skin looked like a few weeks ago. Well, sort of -- I'm exaggerating a little bit. Perhaps.)
   
3. I am thankful for modern medicine. A century ago, I would have eventually died. Sixty years ago, I would have had my whole breast removed -- no questions asked, then who knows what kind of follow-up care. Just fifteen years ago, I would have been assured a mastectomy plus chemotherapy. Today, I was able to choose, with confidence, the least invasive form of treatment with the highest rate of survivability, which included no chemotherapy.
4. I am thankful for the willingness of all the thousands of women (and men) who have lived with breast cancer before me, who donated their bodies/tissues/stories to science in order to give those of us living today the best treatment options.
5. I am thankful for my family. Everyone got down in the dirt with me. My children lived bravely through the scary days, and had patience with me when I got down. They are such strong, mature people. My husband stayed close and played note-taker when I couldn't think straight. When I yelled or cried, he just hugged. When we woke up together on Thanksgiving morning, the first thing he whispered to me was "I am so glad, more than ever, to have you in my life." Amen to that.
6. I am thankful for caring friends. I can't list all of the wonderful gifts, meals, flowers, cards that I received, but please accept this as my blanket thank-you. I am especially thankful for: a friend who called every week with sincere interest in every last detail of my treatments (I'm a talker, so it helped me immensely to be able to process that information with you); friends who visited me (and even flew in!!) to give me encouragement and support; a friend who arranged all my meals and took me on an unexpected, but cancer-kicking shopping spree; and a fellow cancer-struggler who shared with me her beautiful outlook on life and living before her death.
7. Finally, I am thankful for the experience. It sounds crazy (especially as I write it), but I truly feel thankful to know what it is like to face the diagnosis, and the uncertainty of cancer. I worked with dying cancer patients for years, but did not truly understand the grip of fear that it brings, nor did I truly understand the powerful well of hope that can spring out of such a difficult situation. I get some of that a little better now, and I'll be a better person for it.

Finally, thanks to all of you who were interested enough to read about my experience. Writing is my best form of expression, and it helped me to put all my confused feelings into written words. I hope all of you had many things to be thankful for this year, as well. In the end, life is good. Life is beautiful. If you have the open heart and mind to see it.

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Feel the Burn

So Mom decided to dress up as "dead woman" this year for Halloween. It was easy. It's not too different than how I actually feel. I've tried to avoid it, but you may have to endure one "pity-me" post.

Aside from the first week of diagnosis and the mental terror it brought, this past week has been the hardest week of all. Surgery was more painful, but radiation has been relentless (and let's be honest -- I had really good meds after surgery). 30 days does not sound like a long time until you hit the 20th day or so. Mentally, I am done. I'm tired of the reminder every day at 1:30 that I have cancer. I'm tired of the impersonal buzz of the radiation equipment that could care less about the state of my skin below. I'm tired of dressing in hospital gowns (especially the ones with the rips in awkward places that you don't notice until you're in the chair). I'm tired of layers of creams on my skin that no longer help (and in fact, sometimes aid in the process of sloughing off skin when it sticks to my clothes -- oops! didn't see that coming!). I'm tired of feeling disoriented and forgetful. I'm tired of being tired, basically.

Mercifully, the doctor decided to remove the bolus from my treatment regimen (remember that thick, folded-up piece of love that brings the radiation up higher into my skin?), but the damage had already been done. I am peeling and burning in places I would not have guessed possible. And my nerves are -- literally -- shot. I have shooting pains in the same area that are mildly alleviated with ibuprofen. (Hmmm...that leftover surgery prescription is looking pretty tempting at this point...)

I have three days to go. I thought I would be excited, but that has been tempered by the realization that recovery will likely go on for weeks afterward. I know I'll get to the morning when I wake up and say, "Hey, I feel normal!" but that will take a while longer than planned. Celebrations might have to be postponed.

I am so grateful for the calls from friends and family during the long haul. While I may "look great," (cancer Kristen forgot to tell mother/worker/wife/grocery-shopping/gym-visiting-so-I-can-keep-up-my-energy Kristen to take a break), the mental and physical struggles have increased dramatically these last few days. I appreciate the check-ins and support. Continue to be gentle with me and especially my super-patient and super-wonderful spouse (who has done more than his fair share of consoling a weepy pile of mess lately).

We're almost back to full speed, but we may need a little more time than we anticipated before we leave the zombie days behind. And I promise: no more pity posts!

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