For those of you following this sordid tale through breast cancer, treatment, recovery and survivorship, Saturday through all of Sunday was not pretty. It was foul, and painful. Even after taking Imodium, it helped firm some things up, but it has remained a clenching in my gut that I have not experienced in years.
So much for the long work between two of my previous doctors, the acupuncturist, and myself towards retraining my bowels to act “normal”.
That said, after such a crappy weekend I was really craving Pizza. I could richly imagine the taste of one of my favorite pies, the sausage and pepperoni adding the perfect spicy complement to the tomato, peppers and pineapple scattered over the top. The crust with the perfect crunch of the bottom and edge, to the chewiness of the crust holding all the gooey goodness of melted cheese into the center of the pizza pie. It tasted so bland. I soldiered on anyway, imagining how good it really tasted to my atrophying taste buds. I know, Pizza after the weekend I had, but it was a craving, and I was glad to be craving anything. I even threw in some beer. A lovely dark ale, that superbly adds a touch of bitter and chocolaty oat to the meaty, cheesy, vegetable goodness of that Everything Pizza. Ummm, nope it tasted bland too. Oh well. I drank half my beer. Later hubby offered me up an Ice Cream Drumstick, with a fudge center. It too lacked the earthly, tasty, creamy and rich delight I normally savor. Didn’t stop me from eating it though.
I passed out shortly after that. Exhausted from my previous night of toilet homage. We started to watch a movie, which I think I saw the first 5 minutes of before literally passing out on our chaise lounge for the next two hours. Sleep was good, but my poor shoulder was stiff as hell from the position I fell asleep. When I woke hubby was out feeding the toothless wonder cat, and I awoke slightly disoriented. I knew I had fallen asleep, but for a moment could not remember why.
As I have previously mentioned, I am reading Dr. Susan Love’s Breast Book. You can find it here.
I am finding this book helpful and informative, but it also scares me. It has confirmed all the things I have learned in the few short weeks I have been dealing with my diagnosis, reassuring me that I am on the best treatment plan. But I can’t skip the parts that scare me. The parts that talk about triple negative breast cancers. How Triple Negative Breast Cancers have the highest rates of local recurrence (10% higher than other types), and mastectomy does not reduce this rate. If you get through the first 5 years after first diagnosis though, the statics are in your favor, but triple negative breast cancers peak of recurrence is 3 years. That my five year survival rate is 77% compared to all other breast cancers over 90%. And no matter what, someone is going to pull the “short straw”, and they will be the unlucky one despite all the statistics out there, and will not live beyond the 5 year outlook.
That women with triple negative metastatic breast cancers have the worst prognosis. Triple negative breast cancers mostly move to the lungs and/or liver. And the statistic that 60-70% of breast cancer patients that die from this disease had metathesis to the lungs.
Or, when I read the fact that extremely dense breast tissue is a high risk factor in of itself, for breast cancer (almost 5% higher than the average risk for hereditary breast cancers, which I do not have, so I have no idea how that translates against standard risk for breast cancer). Then, when your breast surgeon comments “Wow, you have really dense breasts” while she is examining you, it does not lead to welcome thoughts.
When I read how the younger you are when you have your first pregnancy, and if you breast fed for a least 6 months, you are reducing your chances of ever having breast cancer, and yet, I, who has all the right tics in the positive column have now been diagnosed with an invasive, aggressive triple negative breast cancer. This was not supposed to happen to me. I should not be this statistic!
How I can still feel that lump in my breast when I lay the right way, or move in certain directions, how it taunts me, how it waves its ugly banner of pain, sorrow, worry, sickness, heartache, and whispers that I will be leaving my family before I am ready. When I lay awake at night wondering if my dreams of living to 125 are just that, dreams. I always envisioned living such a long long life, watching my progeny grow, spread, learn, live, laugh and love. Knowing I would probably outlive any partner I chose, I still wanted that long life. Wanted to see what we invented as a people. The amazing technologies we would come up with.
It still amazes and awes me that my grandparents watched as we learned to fly, and went to the moon. Who would have ever thought we would talk to a computer one day and tell it to handle daily tasks for us, like turning on a light, order groceries for us, or playing music – Hello Google, Siri, Alexa… I thought the answering machine was so innovative at the time. Who knew I would start living out my Star Trek dreams!
When I read that women who are overweight (which I am), are at higher risk for recurrence, I find myself more motivated than ever to keep on the weight loss regime my doctor and I started earlier this year. And terrified at how tired I am just after my first cycle, that I will not reach my goals for weight loss and activity. Bringing on my own recurrence. And I haven’t even got rid of the first lump, and I’m already terrifying myself about a second…. (stupid, I know).
And that lump. I know it’s foolish to think after one cycle of chemo I will notice a difference in the lump. But it’s scares me. It takes hold and won’t let go – whispering I am here to stay. How it mocks me in the dark, nothing will ever be the same again. I will mutilate you, cut your dreams with the sharpest of edges, drive your future towards a chasm of black and grey, shrivel you to something unrecognizable. The lump tells me it’s going to win, and I fight this, in the dark, as I palpitate the lump while my husband gently snores next to me in bed, telling it I am stronger than you know. I will fight you tooth and nail, I will win this war. I am NOT cancer. I will NOT be cancer. I will be me, and love, and laugh and LIVE.
But in the dark, there are monsters.
Life is a journey, not always the one we thought we were on, but a journey nonetheless.