Happy Chemoversary to me!

I don't post much anymore.  Two months since my last post, in fact.  Life is busy!  I finally completed my studies and graduated with my MSW.  I am actively looking for a job but still working part-time at the university, and enjoying a little bit of "free time" to do all the yard work I didn't have energy to do last year.  I'm running (sometimes) and yoga-ing (when I can) and soaking up the sun whenever possible.  Life has moved on, and so this blog has become kind of an after-thought - and that is GOOD!

And today - today is exciting!  Today is my Chemoversary - one year since my last chemo treatment.  A year ago today I introduced the Boob Fairy, all shiny pink tulle and satin.  I shocked the heck out of the infusion center staff, who admitted they'd never had anyone dress up to celebrate their final chemo treatment.

The original Boob Fairy

I can't understand why more people don't dress up and celebrate their final Dance with Toxins (especially when you can be all sparkly!)

Today, a year later, I am still recovering from the effects of those poisons.  And likely, I will live with pain and reduced heart function for...ever.  But the operative words here is "live with" - because that is what I'm doing (and doing well, I think!) - living.  Each and every day, as joyously and happily as possible.  I am still here, and intend to be for a very long time to come. 

So I am thankful for my short-lived affair with AC/T last year; because of them, I am still here today.  I am grateful for lessons learned, and for the opportunity to live (really LIVE!!) again.

Celebrate today!  Tell someone you love them; surprise someone with a hug.  Send an email or call someone and just say hi.  Think about someone you clash with and send them positive energy and love.  Do something kind for yourself; do something kind for a stranger.  Smile.  Make a funny face.  Make a child laugh.  Make yourself laugh.  Make love.  Make a choice to be happy - then BE happy!

I love you all - thank you for sharing this journey with me!

Rock On (or...my visit with the RO)

Another quarterly visit with yet another Cancer Professional.  This time is was the radiation oncologist (or, rather, everyone in the office but the actual doctor.  Now that I'm healthy I don't warrant a fully-professional visit).  Short version of the visit went something like this:

Me:  "How am I doing?"

Nurse:  "You've gained alot of weight.  Let's see what we can do about that.  Now put on this really ugly gown and wait for the PA."

Several toe-tapping minutes later...

Me:  "How am I doing?"

PA:  "Everything looks good.  But you've gained alot of weight.  Lose it.  See you in another nine months."

Aaaaannnddd...that was it.  Or something like that.  No tests or anything, although Lucy got a real good going-over (so did Ethel, but she's kinda over all the attention that Lucy has caused and so she wasn't particularly happy that morning).  Radiation has caused my skin and muscle and other tissue to shrink, so there is a great deal of associated of pain in my left shoulder and armpit - but no one seems terribly concerned about that.  Except me.  Cuz it hurts and limits my range of motion.  But on the flip side, no lumps, bumps or funny things to be concerned about, so it's another three months of dating NED for me!

I didn't expect much differently during this visit, because the RO doesn't order bloodwork or other scans (so there just isn't much for them to tell me).  But it's still good to see them, to have them see me, and to feel as though I'm not alone in this aftercare.

I've been emailing back and forth with my oncology NP, trying to gather more information about the genetics of my original cancer.  Knowledge is power, blah-blah-blah.  Reality is I want an assurance (or maybe that's a reassurance?) that I'm done with this beast.  Curse you, Cancer, for making me crazy (and fat.  Yes, you're the reason I'm fat.  Thank you).

After several back-and-forth emails, my favorite NP Dianne confirmed what Ken and I already knew, but didn't really want to hear - that my cancer is a molecular subtype known as Luminal B.

What does that mean?  Well, without trying to dissect lots of scholarly articles in this little tiny place (which no one really wants me to do), the easiest way to explain it is this:  It doesn't respond as well to chemo as, say, Luminal A might, and it tends to be aggressive.  In the end it explains why my Oncotype score was so high, and also why my PR status changed from positive (at pathology) to negative (thru Oncotype test). 

What does it mean in the long-term?  Who knows.  Might come back, might not.  Today, cancer is still my bitch.  Tomorrow, that might change.  But life is kinda like that, right?

Raising.......Arizona

One of the most profound movies of our time is Raising Arizona.  Not a week goes by that I don't find myself quoting the sage and philosophical words of H.I., Ed, Evelle, Gale, and the rest of the erudite crew. 

"There's what's right, and there's what's right, and never the twain shall meet."

"If a frog had wings, it wouldn't bump its ass a-hoppin'!"

"You know, I'm okay, you're okay, that's there what it is!"

"Son, you got a panty on your head."

But lately, I've been thinking about this insightful exchange, and how it perfectly illustrates what I'm feeling right now:

Gale (played beautifully and genuinely by John Goodman), as he busts into the rural bank:

"All right ya hayseeds, it's a stick-up!  Everybody freeze!  Everybody down on the ground!"

To which the old farmer replies:

"Well, which is it young feller?  You want I should freeze, or get down on the ground?  Mean to say, if'n I freeze, I can't rightly drop.  And if'n I drop, I'm-a gonna be in motion..."

Which is it gonna be?

I recognize that my inability to drop and be in motion has been my choice, my decision, perhaps even my desire.  Homeostasis is safe.  Venturing out into the world is scary.

I take my Tami and make my quarterly doctor visits and...for the most part I forget the last year.  Sometimes it still seems surreal.  Me - cancer?  Naw...must have been a really bad dream.  And for now it's easy to feel that way because reality creeps in only rarely (and only when I let it...or go looking for it).  Sometimes I'm almost sad to leave this all behind, and feel twinges of survivor's guilt when I look around and realize sisters have been lost along the way.  I want to move forward...but not really.

It's hard to explain because it often comes out as so much whining.  "Really, you're not over this yet?  Will you ever stop talking about it?  When do you become one of those cool cancer survivors who says, 'I'm cured!!!' and doesn't let it run her life anymore?"  You would think I'd want to run like hell from this experience and leave it behind like a bad relationship, when all I really want to do is gather it up and hold it close to me and protect it like a child.  Most days I'd rather freeze than be in motion.

Which isn't really an option, is it?  Because life moves forward whether I want it to or not.

The next few months are going to be busy and filled with lots of adventures - graduation, races, vacation, travel, family, a new job (I hope!) - so much motion!!  Spring is right around the corner (right...?) - a time of renewal and new life.  Last Spring I was in the midst of chemo and couldn't enjoy it; perhaps this year is my personal Spring, a chance for physical and spiritual renewal and an opportunity to adventure back out into the world.  Moving forward doesn't have to mean leaving behind; I think I need to get a good grasp on that concept.

Besides, even if I stand still, life will continue to go on around me.  Might as well drop and be in motion.