Moving On

So…the “hard” stuff is done.

I have gotten the dreaded “C” word diagnosis.

I have undergone a bilateral mastectomy.

I have undergone 6 chemo infusions.

I have gone to the radiation therapy department 34 times, for a total of 78 “zaps”.

All in the past 9 months. During that time I have dealt with a myriad of side effects. Both emotional and physical. I have watched all my hair fall out. I have watched my muscle tone waste away. I have watched my body drop 15 pounds. I have looked in the mirror and not known my own reflection. I have watched my skin turn red and now I am watching it peel. I have watched those people I love, and who love me, deal with this while trying their hardest to keep my spirits us. I am still dealing with problematic fingernails. I am still fatigued yet still have trouble sleeping.

But…as I said…the hard stuff is over.

There is still more to do. I will have Herceptin infused every three weeks until July. (I love Herceptin, it has saved (is saving?) my life. I don’t want to stop it).

I still need my expanders removed and my implants…implanted.

Soon I will start popping a daily pill, and will pop it for the next 5 years. This pill comes with its own horrid side effects, but, like everything else I have done, I will give it my best shot, while holding onto my right to stop popping it if I so decide.

I have never had a full body scan but I have been told by my oncologists that there is no evidence of disease in my body. None. NED. I’m on a wing and a prayer.

And I am done blogging. I am still walking in cancerland, I will never fully leave this place, but I am done blogging about it. I hope to never, ever have to blog a Part II. I appreciate all of you who have come along on this walk with me. I thank you for your comments, prayers, love and support.

I will be giving back, and paying it forward, for the rest of my life. Because I know of no other way to properly thank you. Every good deed I do in the future will be done in your name. Thank you.

If you have enjoyed reading this blog may I direct you here: http://www.butdoctorihatepink.com/. Ann is a wonderful woman and blogger. Her diagnosis started as mine did (stage 2) but quickly morphed into Stage 4 metastatic disease. She is more graceful, more dignified and more sarcastic then I could ever be. She is my hero.

If you would like to watch me say “thank you” to you time and time again then please go here:  http://www.thechemobag.com and here: https://www.facebook.com/TheChemoBag

With much love and gratitude I leave you with hugs and peace.

Leah

Breast Cancer Survivor.

Survivor??

Lately, I haven’t had much to say. This blog started as a place to keep people informed, then morphed into a place where I could moan and groan and complain “oh woe is me”. I like to think I did my best to maintain some dignity and grace as I trudged thru this muddy place I like to call “cancerland”. I like to think that my words have helped someone else; either on their own walk thru cancerland or by reminding them that the grass isn’t always greener, that everyone has a shitty story to tell and therefore we should judge less and love more.

 

Actually…what I would really like to do is say “good-bye” to this blog. I would like to end it on a positive note…With a picture of the certificate I will soon receive, the one that says NED. No evidence of disease.

 

But I am not ready to do that yet. Not yet.

 

Because I don’t know if I believe it or not. The NED part, I mean.

 

Is it unfortunate that I am “too informed”? That I have read too many horror stories of women just like me, women who battled against the big “C” with every weapon available to them, only to succumb to it later? Possibly. Probably.

 

The odds are in my favor. “Statistically” (how I loathe that word) I am a breast cancer survivor. Most likely the chemo and the rads have gotten rid of any rogue cancer cell that was lingering in my body. At least, that is what all of my oncologists tell me.

 

I have 7 more rad treatments left. That’s it. 7. And it hasn’t been as horrible as I had anticipated. As a matter of fact, my rad onc Dr. Mc says my skin looks really good, “considering”. I could get into the appearance of my skin, but I won’t. It’s a dull story and compared to how I felt after my surgery, and how I felt for the 20 weeks following my first chemo, I feel fine.

 

I would like to just get out of cancerland and go back to the real world. But I know that for the rest of my life I will be walking with one foot in cancerland. While my “active” treatments may be coming to an end, I still have a lot of cancer treatments ahead of me. The Herceptin (my miracle drug) will continue to be infused once every three weeks until July 2013, I will soon begin popping a daily pill for the next 5 years to block my overproducing estrogen from producing cancer (can I just say here, that like all the things I have been told to do to get rid of this nasty cancer, I don’t want to take this pill?) and there is still one more surgery I need to have. And then I just wait. And every day that I wake up without cancer will be a day worth celebrating.

 

But I would like to wake up and NOT have cancer be the first thing I think about. I would like to go to sleep without cancer being the last thing I think about too.

 

I knew how to live my life before cancer. I figured out how to live my life with cancer. I have no idea how to live my life as a survivor.