BC Becky

Never Thought I'd Want to be a Breast Cancer Survivor

Category: Emotional Journey

  • No problem – minor meltdown

    No problem – minor meltdown

    When the pain first started to bother me, my immediate reaction was lymphedema. This is huge progress. I didn’t go straight to cancer. It annoyed me but I didn’t let it bother me. I congratulated myself on how well I handled it. How I didn’t let it stress me out. No problem.

    When it didn’t improve, I asked my lymphedema doctor about getting some chest compression – hoping that might help it. In the mean time, I also had my husband do some lymph drainage massage, as I cannot easily reach the area. It alway seem to feel a little better after he did the massage, and but overall it wasn’t improving.

    Then my husband during one massage mentions that he feels a lump. I immediately check and say “it is just a rib”. I am completely calm about it. I had an appointment with my physical therapist the following week, and she is a pro at this, I’ll just get her to check it out, and until then I won’t worry about it. I’m too busy to be worried anyways. No problem. Again I congratulate myself. All is good, we’ll just get this lymphedema checked out.

    Eventually hearing back from my lymphedema doctor, he suggested I return for an LDEX scan. This is a special scan they do where they run electricity (its an impedance test – http://www.marladudak.com/Breast-Cancer-Care/-L-Dex). Higher numbers indicate lymphedema. Since we didn’t do a baseline right after surgery, we didn’t know my default. We did a first test right after I was diagnosed with lymphedema and it read somewhere around 8.8 – so not technology lymphedema but the sciences of these devices is still in its infancy. A month ago, it read 2.2 – signs of improvement. Since I’d done it only a month ago, I was surprised at being asked to come back. He said that anytime I think the lymphedema changes, that it is good to go back and measure. And so I returned.

    Then the results came back, 1.1. Then I freaked out. If the pain isn’t lymphedema then what the heck is it? What is causing the pain in the side of my rib cage (and right under my breast). This was Tuesday last week. I totally freaked out. I went to the pool and my entire swim all I could think about was how the cancer was back and now it was in my bones.

    Wednesday was awash with running around and getting ready to close escrow. On Thursday we closed escrow on our new place (another story – and in part why I’m so busy). Thursday afternoon I finally see the physical therapist. She measures my arm and confirms that I do not have lymphedema. My measurements are all within “normal” variance. She then examines me and where I’m in pain – checking for lumps and bumps. She doesn’t feel any lumps, nor any bumps. She cannot see anything wrong. She pokes around a bit trying to find the pain and figures I’ve strained some small muscles between my ribs. After discussing, we come to the conclusion that this was likely caused by using crutches (yup, my mother warned me to be careful with the crutches). The better part of 6 weeks using crutches had taken its toll.

    I was relieved but still a little worried. I’d mentioned the pain to my lymphedema doctor (actually his nurse) saying that since it wasn’t lymphedema then I’m worried about what it was. The lymphedema doctor ordered a chest x-ray. This is the first chest x-ray I’ve had since my diagnosis! I said that since I was going up to the cancer center for another appointment on Monday (today) that I’d do it then. I also booked an additional appointment with my breast surgeon. I was still a little worried and wanted to be extra cautious.

    So today my breast surgeon did a thorough exam. Didn’t think anything was a problem. She relaxed all my tensions. She suggested that I follow up with the plastic surgeon – the pain might be related to some of the stitches or other things that were done in the plastic surgery. She said that I wasn’t show any signs of cancer (she checked my lymph nodes too). She gave me a plausible alternative explanation. I’ve booked a follow up appointment with my plastic surgeon. My breast surgeon also gave me a few different questions to ask my plastic surgeon.

    All good, one final stop, to get that x-ray. It wasn’t strictly needed – in that my cancer doctor said it wasn’t cancer – but I figured that I’d not done one in almost two years and I was ready to feel safe. The anxiety that I had been replaying in my brain over the weekend involved the x-ray causing a discussion with the radiologist and a vast amount of follow up. None of that happened. We did the x-ray. The tech said it looked good and that it would be read by the radiologist later that day. I know that if there was any really serious red-flag, the tech would have had the radiologist look at it right away to ensure that all the right photos were taken. I know that the words “the radiologist would like to speak to you” are words that you never want to hear – and I am glad that I can say that I have once again escaped talking to the radiologist.

    And now, after a month of that little voice at the back of my mind saying “maybe it isn’t nothing”, I can finally let it go. I am trying to trust that I’m OK. I’m trying to remember that every ache and pain doesn’t mean that the cancer is back. I need to move on. I thought I had moved on. So in some ways, this feels like a little setback – but on the other hand I did go most of a month without it bothering me, so that is an accomplishment.

    I am healthy (or getting there). I’m strong and getting stronger every day. Sunday I swam 1250 meters. I am starting to walk a little further each day (the rain isn’t completely helping). I went for a short bike ride for the first time in several months, and will try to get back on the bike more often now that I know I don’t have lymphedema or anything else that is counter-indicated. And over the next month I’m going to be doing lots of renovation and packing. I’m looking forward to being in our new place.

  • In a bit of a funk

    In a bit of a funk

    I find myself wondering if it is the weather. It has been raining most afternoons for the last week and a half or so. I’m finally able to walk and get out and exercise, but doing it is a challenge when the weather isn’t participating.

    I’m also watching my friends defend their dissertations. I’m happy for them. I know just how much work is involved in getting to that point. A doctoral program is a huge investment in time and energy. It is a huge accomplishment that I’m happy to be celebrating with my friends. But on the other hand, it is reminding me of just how much more I have to do. It is reminding me that I’m behind. That I took 16-months off (really more than that, as I pretty much stopped in May when I was diagnosed, but the way the semester system works I was registered until August. So, I was away from it all for about 18-19 months.

    The restart has been good for me. The cancer experience has given me a new passion to help me focus my research. I’m excited about the project I’ll be leading. I’m looking forward to the writing that will take me from where I am to finishing my PhD.

    But these last two days I’ve been in a bit of a funk. I’m trying to figure out what will pull me out of it. I’ve called on a friend to go out to lunch. Perhaps that will help. I don’t know. I just know that I need to bounce back. I need to bounce back soon.

    It looks like few have a few more days of this dreary weather ahead of us – but by mid next week the sun will be back. I will look forward to that and try to get ahead on some of my work so that I can enjoy it when it happens.

    In other news, we are expecting to close on the purchase of a new place (a manufactured home) next week. It needs some renovations – but I’m really looking forward to moving into the new space and creating a real home out of it. Stay tuned for photos 🙂

  • I now see awe

    I now see awe

    For the last several months I’ve hated it when Facebook sent me reminders of my bald days. I couldn’t look at bald pictures of myself without feeling a sense of loss. I wanted to put that behind me. I didn’t want to see them. I didn’t want the wave of sadness that I felt every time they were presented to me.

    Since Commonweal, I now see myself differently. When the picture popped up on my timeline, I saw the beauty in it. I was awe inspired by the strength I had at the time the picture was taken. It was taken the day before my first surgery (along with a series of nude photos that captured my post-chemo pre-surgery body). Never in my mind had I thought that I would one day be sitting in a studio in Berkley California posing nude for a photo shoot.

    Now when I see the picture I am awe inspired. I see the strength that I had at that time. I see pure beauty in my eyes.  It is a wonderfully liberating transition. There is no sadness in it anymore, rather, there is a smile that I exchange with my self as if greeting a long time friend. It’s nice to see you again 🙂

  • I forgive my body

    I forgive my body

    One of my struggles this last year has been dealing with loss. I’ve been sad about all the things that I felt that cancer had taken away from me. I felt a deep sense of loss that I was reminded of regularly.

    Time passes unhindered. When we make mistakes, we cannot turn the clock back and try again. All we can do is use the present well.
    ~ Dalai Lama

    I struggled with a sense of loss for a future that I will never have. I went to Commonweal with the hope of getting my future back. What I mean by that is the sense that I can plan for a future, to have wishes for the future, but I learned that first I had to forgive myself for not having the future I had hoped for. I needed to learn to let go of the fantasy future that I thought I’d have so that I can live the future that I do have.

    I had to forgive myself for the constant assault on my body that was treatment. I had to forgive myself for the past that I cannot change. I had to release the expectation that I could change the past.

    You will love again the stranger who was your self.
    ~ Derek Walcott

    I also needed to forgive my body for not being the perfectly healthy body that I want it to be. I needed to forgive my body for growing the cancer that tried to kill me. And after the forgiveness, I thanked my body for being strong. I thanked my body for powering through and rebounding after each assault.

    At one point, Waz from Commonweal mentioned that we look at animals in nature with a sense of awe, and yet when we look in the mirror we do not see that same sense of awe. We need to learn to look in the mirror and see that sense of awe that is in ourselves.

    Instead of mercilessly judging and criticizing yourself for various inadequacies or shortcomings, self-compassion means you are kind and understanding when confronted with personal failings – after all, who ever said you were supposed to be perfect?
    ~ Kristin Neff – http://self-compassion.org/the-three-elements-of-self-compassion-2/

    I must learn to be compassionate towards myself. To be self-compassionate, to forgive myself and my body, to be thankful. I asked about the difference between being selfish and being self-compassionate. The response was that selfishness takes from others, where self-compassion does not. Compassion does not draw upon a well that is limited. It isn’t a zero-sum game, where giving to one means the other is losing.

    And so, by forgiving myself and my body, I move beyond the sense of loss that was overshadowing my soul to a sense of hope for the future. I see the resilience that is inside of me.

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  • Poetry and life energy

    Poetry and life energy

    It has been many years since I last wrote a poem. This ons was inspired by a picture I drew. The task was to “draw your cancer”. My picture evolved and within it this poem emerged:

    My body’s love for life is growing out of control
    Like a forest fire smothering life in its wake
    The fire within does not kill me
    Rather it gives me a new life energy
    Like the giant sequoia which needs fire to begin its life
    Let there be a strange grace that emerges from the fire

  • Cancer as a gift

    Cancer as a gift

    I struggle with the idea of cancer as a gift. It is not something that I would wish on anyone. But it has changed me. It as also given me so many new opportunities, that I cannot dismiss the positive things that I have happened.

    In a session this morning (I’m at Commonweal in their Cancer Help Program), the idea of “strange grace” was presented. Rather than a gift, cancer allows us a strange grace. It gives us an opportunity to think about our death. To plan. To tell the people we love that we love them. To do the pressing things we feel we need to do. Sometimes even to say goodbye. It is not a gift, but it is a strange grace.

    My husband said the other day “the best friends she wishes she never met” – and it is so true. Another strange grace that cancer has given me is a closeness with so many amazing people. I have so many new wonderful friends that I would never have met if I didn’t have cancer. In addition, cancer has also brought me a lot closer to a lot of friends and colleagues – in very unexpected ways.

    It has also given me something meaningful to write about. I has given me many stories and allowed me to write many things that I know have helped people – that is so very rewarding.

    I have climbed back from treatment, and injury, to be stronger in many ways that I was before. I have demonstrated to myself that I can physically recover from the various insults. My oncologist described chemo and surgery like getting hit by a truck, twice. A double-wammy. I climbed out of that. I walked 32.5 miles in two days. That is not something that I thought I could ever do, and yet I did it.

    Goingeast.ca taught me that I have strong tenacity. If I put my mind to something I can power through it. One pedal stroke at a time. I’m good at that. Cancer has taught me that I’m also resilient. I can rebuild after being knocked down. That isn’t a characteristic that I associated with myself before.

    This week I’m at Commonweal for their Cancer Care Program – a week long retreat that focuses on healing the spirit – whatever that means to you. The space is very healing itself. Upon arrival I was struck by the beauty of it, but also with the energy of it. There is healing energy here. My body is feeling stronger, but also my mind. It is helping me understand and truly grieve for the losses that cancer has taken from me, to forgive myself, to forgive my body, which is helping me move forward. It is helping me see the narrative in my life – see the story more clearly. It is a special place that people come to from all over the world, and I’m so lucky that it is less than a two hour drive from our home. This place is a gift. Being here is a gift to my soul.

  • Life doesn’t suck

    Life doesn’t suck

    There is no easy way to put this, January was a pretty sucky month in cancer land. It seems like from the moment I returned from Epic some celebrity or another died of cancer. To top that off, at least a couple of bloggers died, and several others had disease progression. Closer to home was learning that a couple of the ladies from my support groups were diagnosed metastatic – one who followed me through chemo by about one or two weeks. In all accounts, there was a lot of sad news in cancer land.

    However, I’m doing well. This is actually really hard sometimes. I’m doing well, but the people around me are not. There is that pang of survivor guilt that happens. I want to celebrate, to shout out, I’m having fun, I’m doing well, and yet, I’m surrounded by sadness. I feel guilty because I want to share the good things that are happening.

    Now I’ve blogged before about how I think we need to remember to blog when things are going well. The breast cancer blogosphere is full of stories of the hardships of breast cancer. It is full of the authentic accounts that help us prepare, help us empathize, help us understand the real impacts of the disease. What is isn’t full of are the stories of people who are doing well – I don’t mean the feel-good stories. There are lots of she suffered, now she is cured, lift is a gift, rah rah rah stories that are designed to make people who don’t have cancer feel better. By the way, I learned a new term for that today “healthy privilege“, which is the view of the world from the healthy persons perspective. But I digress, my point is, I’m doing well and I want everyone who follows me to know about it.

    I’m not doing great, and I’m not finished recovering, or any of that. But I’m not doing poorly either. My foot still hurts, I cannot exercise.  But my life is starting to fall back into rhythms that I enjoy. I’m teaching again and loving it. I’m back to school again and loving it. I had a great birthday party and was reminded of all the amazing friends I’ve made over the last two years. So, for right now, life doesn’t suck.

  • Thank you everyone …

    Thank you everyone …

    Last night I had hosted a birthday party / gratitude party. When sending out the invites I was struck by out much of my California social circle are from the breast cancer community. This really shouldn’t be a surprise, as I was diagnosed very shortly after moving here.

    Someone pointed out that although breast cancer brought us together, it could just have easily have been kids, or some other commonality. It didn’t really matter what brought us all there, just that we were all there, and we laughed. We talked and we laughed some more. We discovered lots of commonalities that we didn’t realize (almost everyone in the room was Unitarian although I don’t think any of us regularly attend a congregation).

    I am writing the post to say a special thank you to all my friends that came, and those who couldn’t too. I felt very lucky to have so many wonderful people in my life. And I was so glad that I could share some laughs. It was awesome seeing everyone smile – the best birthday gift I could ever ask for. Thank-you.

  • What Maslow & Bloom can teach us about cancer survivorship

    What Maslow & Bloom can teach us about cancer survivorship

    Although healing and curing are different, they are entwined. For any cure to work, the physical healing power of the individual must be sufficient to enable recovery to take place. But healing goes beyond curing and may take place when curing is not at issue or has proved impossible. Although the capacity to heal physically is necessary to any successful cure, healing can also take place on deeper levels whether or not physical recovery occurs. ~ Michael Lerner in Choices in Healing, 1998, p.14

    I’ve been reading the book Picking Up the Pieces: Moving Forward After Surviving Cancer by Maggee & Scalzo (2007). In it they talk about the difference between curing, healing, and recovering.  The book quickly jumps to the idea of recovery and the various stages of it glossing over the curing and healing parts, however, I find myself stuck back in the differences between curing and healing.

    Curing is the goal of our doctors when we are diagnosed with early stage breast cancer. They do their best to recommend treatments with the goal of curing us of cancer. Curing is difficult to measure. You cannot know if someone was truly cured of the cancer until they die of something else. There could be a low probably of the cancer coming back. There are some attempts at measurement, such as the five-year survival rate, but those numbers are problematic at best.

    One of the challenges of survivorship is that time after your doctors tell you are cancer-free (or in remission) or finished treatment (sometimes there are significant treatments such as chemotherapy that occur after your are cancer free – it really depends on the specific situation and treatment plan). In essence, what happens is, that at some point your doctors have done all they can to “cure” you. But they may not have done everything that you need to be healed.

    Now that brings me over to our friend Maslow. Maslow proposed a hierarchy of needs which is often portrayed as a pyramid. See the Wikipedia listing here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maslow%27s_hierarchy_of_needs. In education we talk about the lower needs must be met before the upper needs can be addressed. Although this isn’t strictly true, it does have some merit. The pyramid goes like this (from bottom to top): physiological, safety, love/belonging, esteem, self-actualization. So while we are looking at taxonomies that are often represented by pyramids, we should take a step over to look at Bloom’s taxonomy. It looks at different levels of knowledge and is often used in instructional design as a way to categorize learning objectives. Bloom’s categories are knowledge, comprehension, application, analysis, synthesis, evaluation.

    What does this have to do with cancer survivorship? I can see some parallels to the idea of curing, healing, and recovery. When we are in active treatment, our focus is on curing, it is at the bottom of the pyramid. When we are learning about our cancer at this point, we are interested in obtaining knowledge. Our focus is on the facts. We want to comprehend what we are being told. Our lives are lived in the lower levels of both Maslow and Bloom’s. We are just doing what we are told to do and trying to make it out the other side alive – with the hope of being cured.

    After the acute treatment phase, there comes a time when our doctors tell us they are done with us – at least those of us who our doctors are trying to “cure” – the conversation and process is very different for those living with metastatic disease. This is were we are looking towards the higher levels of the taxonomies. We were trying to synthesize what has just happened. We seek greater meaning making (or not). We become ready to stop focusing on the day-to-day that was treatment, and start picking up the pieces and getting on with our lives.

    One of the other ideas this book has brought up is that there is a gap between where we want life to be and where it is. More than that, there is a sense of wanting to go back to that time before cancer. We want our health to return to us. We want back what cancer and treatment has taken away. However, for many of us, this is an unrealistic want. We will never get back to what we were before. Not only because life doesn’t work that way, but also because our memories of the past are imperfect. We tend to remember the parts of our past where we were healthy and pain free. We don’t remember the back aches that we had before cancer. We only remember a pain free body. So not only is our want unachievable it is also unrealistic. In some ways, perhaps, this is what is meant by the “new normal” that we are suppose to be seeking post treatment.

    I’m not sure that Maslow or Bloom really helped me gain a better understanding of where I am right now. I’m still desiring some form of healing. I’m not ready to move onto the self-actualization part that may come with recovery (if that is even possible). I’m stuck a little lower down on the pyramid. I want to find a way to heal first, before I leap too much further into recovering. Perhaps, as Michael Lerner says, it isn’t a linear process – it isn’t a hierarchical pyramid – rather it is a circular or spiral journey, where we weave in-and-out or between the different layers of curing, healing, and recovering. I’ve moved further from the center, which was curing, and am moving further to the outer edge which is recovery, but mostly I’m stuck in the healing stage. Not yet ready to make a full leap into recovery, because that is just too scary right now.

  • Last week I got to be Wonder Woman

    On the drive up to the 7W Ranch near Dotsero Colorado, we were all asked to come up with a ‘camp name’. I had a hard time as I really wanted to use a name that represented who I wanted to be for the week. So, not just a nickname, but also a name that would help me frame my mindset for the week. I needed to decide who I wanted to be for the week.

    It was as we were having dinner the first night that it occurred to me. I wanted to be a superhero. I wanted to be someone who represented strength, but also I wanted a name that itself would be a source of inner strength that I could draw upon for each of the adventure experiences. With that in mind, I decided that I wanted to be Wonder Woman!

    The funny thing about using camp names is that people don’t get to know your real name. Everyone at camp called me Wonder Woman. I actually found it easier to remember camp names than to remember real names. It didn’t take me long to remember the names of all the campers. We had Wild Flower, Rey Rey, Fancy Pants, Jelly Bean, The Spaniard, Nutz, Kitty Sox, and myself – Wonder Woman. What an awesome group.

    Throughout the week we participated in a series of adventures. The first couple of days were not really a surprise, as I knew that the winter camp involved snowshoeing and cross country skiing. Knowing that helped me pack, but also helped me physically prepare for the camp. Other activities involved a lot of tromping around in the snow and a couple of fun filled field trips. The activities are all lead by the wonderful folks at Renaissance Adventure Guides (Master Chief and Scrat).

    There were beautiful sunrises:

    Ice crystals on the snow:

    Fields of elk:

    Frozen streams:

    Snowshoeing trails that included some bear claw markings in the aspen grove:

    Cross country skiing in Vail:

    Crazy awards:

    And some random frolicking in the snow that involved full sized rafts, driveways, and motorized equipment:

     

    … and so much more, but I’m sworn to secrecy for some of it … so that others that attend can enjoy the surprises!

    Last week, I was Wonder Women. Not sure who I am going to choose to be this week!

    Epic Experience can take up to 12 campers. They accept any cancer survivors/thrivers who are physically able to attend the camp. The ranch is located at 9000 feet elevation, which does pose challenges, but is not insurmountable for a lot people. What is nice is that the camp is not age restricted, such that anyone who wants to can attend. Some people are afraid of the winter camps but I’d encourage anyone who is, to just do it! They have warm hats/mitts/gloves/pants etc for those who do not have their own. They provide a supportive environment to help you get out and explore fun winter activities, a warm cabin, and great company. In addition, they make great wholesome meals and adapt to the most challenging dietary restrictions (like my celiac disease). So if you are at all interested, I encourage you to apply. The week long camp is free for cancer survivors/thrivers. They have spaces available in all of their winter camps. Applications are available here.

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