5 Years Later.

Here I am. 5 years later.

Still alive.

Did you have more faith in this moment than I did?

It felt good to end this blog after radiation was complete, but the end of the blog was not the end of my walk in cancerland.

So lets catch up, shall we?

About 5 months after radiation was over I went back under the knife to have my implants…implanted. That’s all I really have to say about that.

In June 2013 I had my last Herceptin infusion. It was bittersweet as the Herceptin didn’t affect me like chemo did. Herceptin caused me to feel kind of flu-like for about 24 hours and made my nose run all the time but other than that I felt fine. Going in every three weeks for my infusion made me feel safe. I was surrounded by a group of wonderful nurses who showed me great care and concern. The Herceptin was specifically designed to target my particular type of breast cancer so therefore I felt like it was saving my life. I have asked for boosters multiple times since that last dose 3.5 years ago but thus far no one has agreed to give me that booster. I guess Herceptin boosters don’t exist.

Hmmmm…talking about that leads me to this.

Yes, 5 years ago today I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Everyone says the 5 year mark is the pivotal moment. If you make it that long without recurrence your chances of recurrence decrease significantly. So I have made it 5 years from my diagnosis.

But only 3.5 years since my last active treatment.  (And I won’t even go into the fact that I still pop a pill daily to treat my cancer. I mean, I won’t go into it yet)

But 5 years from diagnosis is the standard norm. I don’t agree with it tho. In my mind I will reach 5 years in June 2018.

But today I have lived 5 years past a breast cancer diagnosis. There is no denying that. And I am so thankful.

Anyway…back to my health…

In Jan 2015 I had a partial hysterectomy (I still have my ovaries). This surgery wasn’t really cancer related, it was more like post treatment menstrual problems related…you don’t really want to hear about that.

Just about every part of me that could be scanned has been scanned. It is a fact that after you have cancer and have a medical issue that can’t easily be explained the first thing any doctor does is scan you to rule out cancer. In my case, cancer has been ruled out time and time again. Dare I say that getting old sucks? No. I won’t say it. The alternative is to scary.

In June 2016 my amazing, kind and wonderful Dr Shah (my chemo doc) left LVHN to advance his career and while I miss him terribly I am now being followed by the just as wonderful Dr Scialla. I had my first appointment with him in Jan 2017 and immediately felt just as safe in his care as I did in Dr Shah’s. He and I talked extensively about this little pill I pop daily. Tamoxifen. Tamoxifen is used for women whose breast cancer overexpresses Estrogen. My cancer overexpressed estrogen by a small amount, 5% I believe. There is research going on right now that taking Tamoxifen for 10 years may be better than the current standard of 5 years. I will reach the five year Tamoxifen mark in  Feb 2018. I do not want to stop taking this pill, even tho, as I understand it, my chances of survival are just as good stopping it as taking it. As a matter of fact, there is a blood test to check it efficiency. I have refused to take that blood test. It is psychological, I FEEL SAFE taking this pill.  I don’t have horrible side effects and I think that like Herceptin, it is saving my life.

Plus, when I stop taking it I will need to have my ovaries removed. So even tho that damn Estrogen tried to kill me, I still want to keep my ovaries. At this point, Dr Scialla has agreed that I may stay on it for a total of ten years unless I change my mind.

Tamoxifen=treatment.

And I am healthy.

I am a survivor.

Of many things.

I survived being diagnosed with cancer. I survived 3 surgeries. I survived chemo. I survived radiation. I survived Herceptin. I survived my sleep last night. I survived my drive home from work yesterday. I survived 5^th grade math.  I survived some creepy guy in downtown Easton asking me for a hug the other week.

I don’t want a pat on the back or a high five for “fighting like a girl”, for “beating cancer”, for being a “survivor”. Today I am asking you to think about (pray for) those who will lose their “battle” with cancer, not because they didn’t “fight” hard enough, but because cancer is relentless. Because “winning the battle” is all about luck, not about how hard you fought. I am not (was not) brave or strong, I did what I had to do so I wouldn’t die. And so many people are still doing that, knowing ultimately they won’t “win”, but trying to increase their chances, to live longer, to have just one more good day. These people are the real hero’s, the survivors, the fighters, warriors, or whatever word you choose to use.

I was unlucky.

And then I was lucky.

I survived. With grace, dignity and sarcasm. I survive now, each day, with grace, dignity and sarcasm.

I am a better person because of my walk in cancerland. More cynical perhaps, but overall I am a better person.

Thank you my friend, for all your support.

This will, hopefully, be my last post.

Remember my first post? Here is the first few lines. The only thing that has changed is my age.

Today:
I am 44
I am a daughter
I am a sister
I am a wife
I am a mother
I am a friend
I am a nurse
I am a hiker
I am a kayaker

But let me add:
I am alive
I am healthy