BC Becky

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

Category: Emotional Journey

  • Caution – this one talks a bit about death …

    First off, I must start this with a couple of pictures from my beautiful ride up Mount Hamilton this afternoon. It took me 2 hours to climb the 7 miles (not quite 11km) of all up hill.
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    Photo & Video Sharing by SmugMug

    Throughout the climb I found myself stopping in shaded corners to both catch my breath and cry.  When I think about what is to come, I put on a brave face, but I still find myself crying at certain thoughts.

    When I was first diagnosed, I was struck by how some things get clear. When we were creating our wills before we went on our Going East bike tour (http://goingeast.ca), I didn’t think I like the idea of my body being used for research. Now, I definitely want my body to be used for research or medical education. I think my time working with doctors and doing research has changed my opinion on this. I also have clarity as to where I’d like my ashes spread – over the molten lava on Hawaii’s big island. These are things that I couldn’t figure out before, but now just seem to make sense. They weren’t big decisions.

    I also decided that I don’t really want to know my prognosis. Prognosis is a statistical measurement of your likelihood to survive. I don’t really care about that statistic, as the only measure that matters to me is me, and no statistic can tell me that.

    Where statistics are handy is in deciding treatment options. When we know that two options have the same outcome (statistically) then it is truly a choice as to which feels right.

    I got recommendation from the PAMF tumor board. They are recommending chemo first regardless of my HER2 status. Chemo would start within two weeks. They need to know HER2 status to figure out the chemo mix. It also takes about a week to get approvals from the insurance company. I think everyone thinks the HER2 will come back positive. Prior to any chemo I would need a sentinel node biopsy on both sides and to have a mediport installed (not sure installed it the right word … I called it a portal the other day … the idea is that they surgically insert a device that allows direct access to a vein for chemo and other medications that are given by IV – with a port I won’t need to get stuck every time someone needs to give me medication).

    We meet with the oncologist and surgeon at Stanford for their recommendations on Monday. By then we should have the HER2 status. If it is positive, then I think everyone will agree that it is sentinel node biopsy followed by chemo.

    HER2 is a bit of a mixed blessing. It is associated with increase morbidity, but the treatments for it have changed a lot. They have completely new regimes which are providing to be very effective (form what I understand) – so the morbidity statistic may be based on old treatments, and the new treatments haven’t caught up yet … not sure, will need to do some more research. Whatever the outcome, we shall adapt and move forward as it is the only direction to go!

  • Humour in the moment – which boobs should I wear?

    In this moment, we (Scott and I) often find ourselves laughing at things that are rather absurd, but real none-the-less. I recognize it clearly as a coping mechanism, and something that is definitely needed. But I’m also aware of how easily something funny can turn into something not funny.

    I recall back in my undergrad days, one of my friends had cancer. She had cancer before I knew her, and had a re-occurrence. I did not know her well, but well enough that I remember her clearly. Last I had heard she had two beautiful children and was doing well. I mention her because of a particular story. At her wedding shower (she had recently been diagnosed with the re-occurrence), we were laughing about this or that, and for some reason the jokes turned to wigs. There was laughing at first, but then a sudden transition to tears. This is what I’m aware of every time I laugh about something. I’m aware that at any moment that laugh will turn to a cry.

    Today’s laugh was about prosthetic breasts. I never even occurred to me that one would make special prosthetic breasts for swimming. They even make aerodynamic (or I guess aquadynamic) prosthetic breasts. Who knew? I was reminded of Aimee Mullins TED talk about her 12 pairs of legs. She talks about how having various legs allows her to be different heights. She talks about legs as things that allow her to specialize her superpowers (when she wants to run fast, she has special legs for that). So that got me thinking about fake boobs. You see, if I don’t opt for reconstruction, and if I end up with cancer in both then I too could have multiple sets of prosthetics for multiple purposes. I could have bigger boobs to fill out my favourite shirt, or smaller ones when I want to appear more professional. Then of course, it occurs to me, that people who saw me regularly would find it rather odd that my chest size kept changing, and how would you go clothes shopping? Which boobs would you wear? And if I were to get into competitive swimming, would the boobs I choose to wear affect how fast I swim? Would that be considered cheating?

    In all seriousness, I am thankful that the surgeon highlighted that a mastectomy is a real possibly. Not that I want one (the whole idea scares the crap out of me), but that I have a little more time to mentally prepare for it. When the diagnosis is in, and the treatment options are presented, I will be better prepared to make a decision. I at least will have had a chance to explore the options. It never would have occurred to me to search the Internet for breast prosthetics. My fear of being ‘lopsided’ does have some solutions – but frankly, given that I hate wearing bras, I’m still dealing with choosing between two bad options. Reconstruction means more surgery, more complicated surgery, and more healing time. No reconstruction means a life of prosthetics (at least for formal settings).

    On a related note, Scott and I went for a walk around Sausalito on Saturday. I notice that I was looking at other women’s breasts. I had never really taken notice of other women’s breast before – but now, I find myself drawn to them. I am looking. I’m not even sure what I’m thinking when I’m looking, but I am certainly finding myself drawn to look. It is all very odd. Perhaps I’m admiring? Perhaps window shopping? Who knows.

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