BC Becky

Never thought I'd want to be a breast cancer survivor

Category: Emotional Journey

  • That dreaded 50%

    That dreaded 50%

    Fifty percent was a number thrown out there, related to recurrence after a regional recurrence. This was the first time someone threw a number out there and it had me unsettled. When I meet with my oncologist next week, I will talk to him more about prognosis. I’ve done some research, and 50% is on the better end of the numbers that I’ve seen. I’ve two things going for me – the length of time between my initial diagnosis and recurrence, and my age – both are indicators for better overall survival outcomes.

    The last few nights I’ve been really thinking about what this means. It isn’t that I’d die tomorrow if the cancer came back. Even with terminal breast cancer I’d likely be looking at several years – but they would be years with treatments – I’d be in forever treatment. My health would deteriorate and it will get more and more difficult to do the things I enjoy doing.

    When I was initially diagnosed in 2014, I couldn’t see past a three month horizon. It was over a year after treatment ended before I could start seeing more than three months ahead. That hasn’t been such an issue this time – at least until recently.

    The thing that I’m thinking of most now, is that I might only have one good summer left – or at least I can anticipate that this will be a good summer for me – for hiking and camping. I cannot guarantee that I will have more good summers – if the cancer comes back, then my health will likely deteriorate. It might sound pessimistic, but it is also realistic. The one thing that I can count on is that this should be a good summer for me health wise.

    And so, we will plan to have a good summer. We will also have a good spring – starting with the eclipse – we will get our van ready and make plans to go someplace – ideally someplace in nature for the eclipse. We saw a full solar eclipse a couple years ago that was so amazing. One of the things I enjoyed was being in nature and listening to how all the animals responded to the change in the sun. I would love to do that again in April.

    I might plan a trip to California in May. I had to cancel the trip I had planned in October due to treatment – so I have the credit on Air Canada for the plane ticket. I just need to decide when I want to go and book something. I’m waiting to see how radiation treatment goes before I make any firm plans.

    Then in June we are going to Iceland for almost two weeks. Iceland Air starts direct flights May 31. We will fly on a Monday and return a week and a half later on the Friday. We have booked a rental RV for the trip, so we can explore the country and camp. Although the latest eruption means we likely won’t be able to visit the Blue Lagoon, there are many other similar hot springs to visit. I’m looking forward to that being the real start of summer. Nova Scotia summers don’t really start until July.

    I hope to spend much of July, August, and maybe September camping around Nova Scotia. We were thinking maybe we would try to visit every Provincial Park. We have been living here for four years now, and have not spent much time seeing the province, and this summer was all about getting Treehouse built. Now that we live at Treehouse, we are hoping for a little more time to enjoy just being here. I’m looking forward to converting our van backing into the camping van – rather than a van for transporting various construction supplies or moving boxes. I miss sleeping in the van with my hubby and my puppy.

    And so, that 50% makes me want to seize the day. Carpe Diem.

  • Scanxiety

    Scanxiety

    In my post from Tuesday, I mentioned that the radiation oncologist had ordered a head CT. This is to check to ensure there is no cancer in my brain – which is one of the places breast cancer likes to metastasize to. I’m amused that I can write that so nonchalantly without any emotion.

    I don’t yet have an appointment. The CT will be in Bridgewater, but I don’t think it was marked urgent as it wouldn’t change my current treatment.

    I am not anxious about it yet – in part because it hasn’t even been scheduled. My scanxiety (anxiety around scans) usually starts shortly before the scan itself – usually on the day of the exam or as I’m walking into the hospital to register. The height of the anxiety is in that time between the test itself and getting the results.

    I find that doctors here are slow to pass along results, especially some of the specialists. I don’t know for sure if the radiation oncologist would be slow or not, but my family doctor gets copied on the results, and I now have a deal with him that I get a call once new results come in.

    For now, no scanxiety yet. Mostly I’m focused on recovering from this last round of chemo and starting to think about three weeks of radiation in Halifax.

  • Quality of my remaining life

    Quality of my remaining life

    I have been thinking a lot lately about the quality of my remaining life, and how that might be affected by chemo. Please don’t say to me “you’ve gone this before, you can do it again”. Those seem to be the worst words I can hear right now. I don’t want a repeat of what was before.

    The surgery I had, and now the lymphedema in my right arm have me feeling sorry for myself. I remind myself that this is temporary. My arm strength will come back and if I keep up the compression and get back into swimming, it will get better.

    I’ve started going back to the pool. I cannot really swim much as I don’t yet have strength in my right arm, but it is getting better. I need to start working those muscles more so they get stronger.

    But back to the quality of life thing. The last quick conversation I had with my oncologist, he mentioned chemo – specifically TC (Taxotere and Cytoxan). It is an “easier” chemo than the ACT I did the first time – however, I was almost 10 years younger then. I feel like I was in better shape – although I need to remind myself that before surgery I was in great shape.

    I’m worried that I will do chemo and it will negatively impact my quality of life for the rest of my life – and if the cancer comes back (or has already spread) then I’d be ruining some of the good time I have left. I’m having a harder time seeing beyond the treatment – especially not know what the treatment will be. I cannot see what things I will no longer be able to do.

    The surgery recovery has me down because it was more intense than I was expecting. This leads to me feeling sorry for myself.

    On the flip side, I am starting to get more involved on site again. I am starting to see a time when we can move into our new home!

  • Self-care and setbacks

    Self-care and setbacks

    I’m staying at a friends place, watching her dog (who is Cali’s bestie). It has been nice to be a little bit away from the chaos and I’ve been sleeping really well.

    Making coffee the other day I had a bit of a mishap. My forearm when over the steam of the kettle and I got a burn. It is not a bad burn -but it is in the arm that is healing. I notice the next day that the arm has started to swell – ugg. Fortunately, I have compression sleeves and already had an appointment booked to see my physiotherapist who also does lymphatic massage. Fortunately, she took measurements before surgery, so we could see how things had changed. The swelling isn’t horrible, but it definitely is present. Ugg.

    That brings me to self-care, and reminding myself that I need to get back into the pool. The pool is the best thing for lymphedema – it provides compression while you exercise. I can’t really “swim” right now because my right arm isn’t strong enough.

    So this morning, when I woke up early, I checked the pool schedule. I had half an hour before the pool first opened – a perfect time to go where it isn’t at all busy. After walking down the ramp into the pool, I was pleasantly surprised that I could move along in the pool using my arms – just not trusting going into deep water. We will see how the arm feels later, but it definitely brought the swelling down. I visibly checked before getting in, and then afterwards. It is amazing the difference it makes.

    I am reminded that I need to do more self-care – and not just swimming. After the swim, I took the dogs for a walk around the pond. It is a lovely walk where you feel like you are in a forest with all the trees around you. The smells and the sounds provide healing energy – and the dogs don’t mind the walk either!

    There is so much happening with Treehouse Village – so much critical stuff that it is easy to get swept up into the crisis of the day. If you want to see a nice story about Treehouse, CBC did a five minute piece about it. We are a resilient community who have jumped through many hurdles, so it is truly amazing to see it all come together. It is still very much a construction site, but we have conditional occupancy on three of the four residential buildings. It is a time when we are starting to feel like the end is actually in site.

    We have been so involved in it, that it is hard to step away and take a break – especially when everything feels so critical.

    But then cancer has a way of reminding you. It is weird, that I don’t have the clarity of what is important the same way I did the first time I had cancer. The first time, it was easy to just let go of things. I could let go of things that were dragging me down, and focus on things that would help me through it. I guess I don’t feel like I have as much dragging me down, such that I haven’t had that same need to just let things go.

    Last time self-care involved going for a lot of walks. This time it involves beach trips so that my dog can run, but also, time spent on my new home – painting, building drawers for the kitchen cabinets – whatever I can do to help make it be my new home. We are hoping to move in before the end of October. There is still lots of work to do to make it livable. Fortunately, we have a nice place to stay until the of the month (and another home if we need it).

    What do you do for self-care? How often do you do it?

  • I’m happy

    I’m happy

    When I’m out walking my dog, I find myself reflecting. I do this several times during the day. I reflect on how I’m feeling. I ask myself, am I happy? and lately the answer has been yes. I’m happy, I’m content.

    What is interesting is this the type of reflection that some of my getting over cancer programs was trying to get at. The idea is living in the day and checking in each day. I didn’t get it. Now that I have a dog that needs to be walked several times a day, I get it.

    Hitting the seven year mark really made a difference.

    Moving back to Canada made a difference.

    Spending time with my friends makes a difference.

    Knowing that I don’t have to go to the beach alone, or go for a hike alone. I have multiple people I can call who often enjoy spending time out at the beach or as is the case for today out for a ski.

    I got out for a 6km ski today. That might not sound impressive, but given that we don’t have groomed trails, it was pretty good. The weather was spectacular. My puppy dog follows along behind me or runs ahead, frolocking in the snow. It is such a joy to watch. A friend joined me, so we spent the entire time talking while skiing. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend my afternoon.

    I wanted to write this so that anyone reading my blog knows – it is possible to get back to that place of happiness.

  • I forgive my body – a repost

    I forgive my body – a repost

    I wrote this post right after returning from Commonweal‘s week long Cancer Help Program. That program was transformative for me. It allowed me to do some grieving and healing. For some reason this specific post has been on my mind these last few days. I remembered the gist of it, but not any of the details. Reading it now, I feel like it could still apply. I still need to let go of a fantasy future. I need to remember to look for the resilience inside of me.

    I have replaced the feature image – this image by Brett Jordan on Unsplash.

    Originally posted February 28, 2016.

    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.

  • Taking a deep breath

    Taking a deep breath

    I haven’t written for a while. I’ve been so busy with other life things. Normal life things. I am so grateful to be in a place where i can just take a deep breath.

    Dates are starting to come back to me. It is that time of year. Facebook reminds me with a beautiful sunset in Hawaii. I can feel the warm air and smell the sea and feel the breeze on my face.

    Maui Sunset – November 2014

    This whole Covid thing has me missing my friends.

    We are settling in well in Bridgewater. We haven’t really met anyone outside of the circle of Treehouse friends that we had before moving here – it is just that they are here now in person which is awesome. But, in order to really feel part of this town we need to make friends beyond our Treehouse neighbours and that is difficult in this pandemic time, when social gatherings are not a good idea. We are exceptionally lucky to be in a place where we feel relatively safe – but we also know how quickly that could change. We are seeing signs that may very well lead to another lock down.

    And so, today I’m going to focus on gratitude and showing gratitude for my friends and neighbours.

    Hugs to you all…

    Oh ya, and I have to finish with a plug for Treehouse Village … my new neighbours who have been amazingly welcoming.

    Want to move to Nova Scotia?

    The Duck pond in Bridgewater

    Treehouse Village Ecohousing is made up of a small group of families and individuals with a big idea, and we need your help connecting with future neighbours. You’ve received this message because someone thought you might be a good fit for Treehouse Village or might know others who would be interested.

    Together, we are building the first cohousing community in Atlantic Canada! Treehouse Village will be a small neighbourhood with 30 eco-friendly, fully equipped homes facing onto a pedestrian courtyard with a common house for all to share, including amenities such as a children’s playroom, office space, and an additional large kitchen and dining area for community meals. Situated on 15 acres of forested land, with opportunity for car sharing and collaborative childcare, it’s a perfect blend of privacy and social opportunities.

    As of November 2020, the project is well underway here in Bridgewater, Nova Scotia. Fifteen of the 30 households are committed. Collectively, we own a property, completed the design of our custom neighbourhood, and have a Development Agreement with the Town. The aim is to begin construction this spring and to move into our homes in early 2022. In order to break ground, we need nine (9) more households to join and reserve their homes.

    All this to say, who do you know that is seeking a sustainable lifestyle, ready to try something new, values privacy and a sense of belonging, or might be looking to raise their family in a supportive community? There are many ways to reach prospective neighbours, but by far the most fruitful is good old word of mouth.

    Wondering if this might be for you? We want to hear from you! See our plans, meet our members, and sign up for an online information session at www.treehousevillage.ca or send us an email at info@treehousevillage.ca.

    From the members of Treehouse Village, thank you for helping us build our community!

  • Life during “safer at home”

    Life during “safer at home”

    I haven’t blog in a while – in part this is because I wasn’t sure what to say and in part it is because I’ve blogged at Goingeast.

    I am starting to confuse days – except that I know that I cannot hike on the weekends. My days are crazy busy but I’m doing slightly different stuff. In the last couple of weeks I’ve become significantly more productive, almost to the point of pre-cancer – at least that is what it feels like.

    Yesterday (or maybe the day before, I’m totally losing track of days), I filled in the paperwork to officially withdraw from my PhD. I had made the decision before Covid changed my world, but telling people other than my supervisors coincided with it. When I initially made the decision, I gave myself til the end of the month to formally make the decision. With the end of the month approaching I did it.

    I need to remember my own advice about decision making. You made the best decision you could with the information you had at the time. There is no value in looking back and doubting yourself. Once I hit send, the decision was formally made. Now I can move on with my life.

    And so my Covid days have gotten crazy busy. I’m doing a lot of work for Treehouse Village now. Now that I am no longer feeling guilty about not working on my PhD, I’ve been able to sign up to some things that I enjoy doing – and with Covid moving everything online, it aligns nicely with my skills. I’m what I can to support community building and marketing at this time (we are looking for future neighbours).

    And I’m teaching. Three classes right now and three in the summer. We added a second section to the course “the design and instruction of online courses” because the demand was high. As a result, we have have two full sections now and enough students needing to take the course that it will run again in the fall. I’m going to busy.

    I also try to get out for a hike once a week, but it seems to be happening closer to every other week. I go on a weekday, and I use only the trails recommended by the local Open Space preserves and County Parks. Fortunately, so far they have been doing a great job of indicating which trails are Covid friendly.

    With my husband home 7-days a week, my weekdays and weekend blur. We have separate offices so he pops out at various times during the day to grab something from the kitchen. He knows not to bug me when I’m typing, so we are fully able to work together. We spent every day together for 16-months on our bike trip – so we fall right into the flow. At this time of social distancing, I am exceedingly lucky to be living with my soul mate and a partner that I enjoy being with 24/7 (OK almost 24/7). If I want to be alone, I go on a walk. If I want to say hi to another person not on Zoom, I pitter in the garden until I see my neighbour who is also spending a lot of time pittering in the garden.

    So far we are healthy and our plan is to do everything we can to stay that way.

    What does your day look like now?

    Feature image by me – Calero County Park on one of my hikes.

  • I almost cried

    I almost cried

    I almost cried when as I walked out of my surgeons office – likely for the last time. Thursday I had a follow up appointment with my breast surgeon. When she walked in the room she was excited to see me. She was also excited to show her intern her handy work. She is very happy with how well my breasts turned out – with her only comment being that she wished the scars were completely invisible (they are barely noticeable now). She tried to go and get the plastic surgeon to show her – as my plastic surgeon was also in clinic that day – but alas, she was busy so didn’t manage to pop by. She did get a picture for my file.

    On December 17, it will be five years since my big cancer surgery. It is hard to believe. After a quick exam and conversation about my future plans, she said that “she saw no reason why I would need to see a breast surgeon”. With that I was given the all clear from her perspective. Return if I have a worrying symptom, keep follow ups with my medical oncologist – but otherwise, as far as she is concerned I’m doing fine and I no longer need follow ups from her.

    This is a significant milestone. I have “graduated” to no more appointments with my breast surgeon. I still see my medical oncologist every 20 weeks as I’m still doing lupron shots as partial hormone therapy.

    And so, I felt tears starting to come near the end of the appointment. I want to reach out and give her a hug – and say a hopeful goodbye. I did not, but I should have. Her kindness at times when I needed it most has been a gift. She came to my rescue when things were not going well in the hospital. I have many memories of her holding my hands and telling me I am OK as I cry with relief that what I thought might be something isn’t. I here her voice telling me she had written NED (no evidence of disease) in my chart when I needed to hear it again and again.

    This is perhaps one of the happiest goodbyes I’ve had. She is a such a wonderful doctor, and I hope I never have to see her again!

    Feature image by Mantas Hesthaven on Unsplash.

  • Can I handle the emotional hit associated with losing more friends?

    Can I handle the emotional hit associated with losing more friends?

    Back on July 6, 2014 — the day before I started chemotherapy – I wrote about my fears with getting to know others who might one day die from breast cancer.

    To join a cancer community means to admit that I have cancer – but there is more to it than that – it is the fear of joining a community and then losing people in that community. I’m OK with admitting I have cancer, but I’m not OK with admitting that it is something that might one day kill me. I’m afraid that if I develop solid friendships with others who have cancer, that I’ll lose them. I don’t want to have to deal with the death of a good friend – and so, I hesitate. I hesitate to reach out too much to others who are also going through this experience – not because I don’t want to meet these people or get to know them – just that I don’t want to get to know them and then lose them.

    Joining the cancer blogosphere, July 6, 2014

    This is weighing on me today. Since that time I have made many good friends within the breast cancer community. In the last year, I also lost a couple of those friends. Their loss was hard. It was hard to watch them go from energetic powerful women, whom I hiked with regularly – to someone who is struggling to take a breath or a step. But I am glad for the time I did have with them. They showed me how to live.

    After the loss of the last year, I find myself hesitant again. Can I handle the emotional hit associated with losing more friends? And yet, I don’t have a choice. I have made many friends who share being diagnosed as young women (under 45). Statistically, we cannot all survive this disease. It will happen again. We will have others within my community of friends who will be diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer .. and one day, we will lose them too.

    As I reach out to friends who are going through the scary process of biopsies of suspicious lumps, I am scared for them. I am scared that they will hear that the cancer is back – or that is has spread – that they will have to go through treatment again, or treatment for the rest of their shortened lives. I cannot help but hesitate and ask myself – do I want to through this again? Do I want to become closer to those who I know I will lose? But I cannot step away. I need to provide support – whatever little support that may be – often it is just thoughts. I short text or email saying “I am thinking of you today”, so they know that they are not alone — but also that I see you – I am a witness to your struggles.

    I think back to a recent memorial service that I attended. I heard so many great stories of the power that was the person going through metastatic breast cancer, and loving her kids and family. I heard stories of her strength. But I felt like they only saw one side of her. I also saw a different side. I saw not just her strength but her struggles. I held a space where she could take away the shield she put up to help those around her — a space where she could cry and express her frustrations over what the disease was doing to her. It is a particular hug in my kitchen that I remember the most. I remember the smiles while hiking, but also the tears while letting down the barriers that she put up to protect those around her. I hold that memory close.

    So I ask myself, can I go through this again? and then I ask myself, how can I not?

    Feature image by Aron Visuals on Unsplash

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