BC Becky

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

Category: Opinion

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  • Today I pause and reflect

    Today I pause and reflect. It is December 6. It is the 26th anniversary of the Polytechnique massacre – when 14 women were killed in an engineering school in Montreal, Canada.

    I was a first year student at the University of Victoria at the time (December 1989). I was studying physics. It could have happened at my school too. It could have been me.

    And so, every year, on December 6th, I pause and reflect. It is especially poignant given the number of mass shootings that happen at schools in the US every year – so many that it is no longer considered news, we are desensitized to it. It wasn’t even talked about at the Big Ideas Fest conference I attended these last few days. Here, it is the elephant in the room.

    I will not repeat the name of the shooter here. He doesn’t deserve it. I will, however, share the names of the victims. They are the ones that should be remembered:

    • Geneviève Bergeron (born 1968), civil engineering student
    • Hélène Colgan (born 1966), mechanical engineering student
    • Nathalie Croteau (born 1966), mechanical engineering student
    • Barbara Daigneault (born 1967), mechanical engineering student
    • Anne-Marie Edward (born 1968), chemical engineering student
    • Maud Haviernick (born 1960), materials engineering student
    • Maryse Laganière (born 1964), budget clerk in the École Polytechnique’s finance department
    • Maryse Leclair (born 1966), materials engineering student
    • Anne-Marie Lemay (born 1967), mechanical engineering student
    • Sonia Pelletier (born 1961), mechanical engineering student
    • Michèle Richard (born 1968), materials engineering student
    • Annie St-Arneault (born 1966), mechanical engineering student
    • Annie Turcotte (born 1969), materials engineering student
    • Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz (born 1958), nursing student<

    ~ Wikipedia

  • And with that, #nablopomo ends …

    I am proud to say that I successfully managed a blog post per day for the month of November. Unlike NaNoWriMo, the requirement wasn’t for a specific number of words. There wasn’t a way to finish early and meet the requirement. Instead I had to blog every day.

    In the beginning, I thought I’d blog both here and at my academic blog – http://rjh.goingeast.ca. Unfortunately, as work got busier, something had to drop. I chose then to drop my posts at my other blog and continue blogging here. In part because i had so much more inspiration for this blog. I had a lot more to draw upon for inspiration.

    I did find #nablopomo useful as a way to encourage me to write every day. It was a good way to help me get back into the practice of regular blogging and regular writing – two things that I’m going to need to do when I go back to my PhD studies in January.

    I do not think that I will be continuing to post to this blog on a daily-basis – however, I do expect that I’ll be blogging every few days. I’ll also be posting more over at my academic blog which I have been neglecting lately – as I had to prioritize writing a post per day for this blog.  With every choice I make to do something, it is also a choice to not do something else. There are, unfortunately, only so many hours in the day.

    And so, with December being upon us, I shall plan to spend more time with my hubby, more time in nature, and more time mentally preparing to re-engage with PhD studies …. life must go on.

     

  • The other 70 ish percent

    It occurs to me that there is a lot of dialogue about how approximately 20-30% of early stage breast cancers progress to metastatic disease. I ran into a bit of conflict in a discussion group the other day because I asked the organization to do some more research around the myth of 30%. With that I’m referring to how people use the 30% number as if it were a known fact, when we currently don’t have any accurate statistics to support it as fact. I’ve blogged about the dangers of throwing out scare tactic statistics on those of us living with the aftermath of treatment.

    This 30% is used to rebuff the message that “early detection saves lives”. Unfortunately, for 20-30% of women, early detection makes no difference. For them, the disease will progress to metastatic disease regardless of what they do. However, what about the other 70ish percent? Does early detection make a difference for them?

    The point of this post is to talk a little bit about what it means to hope to be in that 70%. I hope that early detection does make a difference. As I learn to live with the aftermath of very invasive and traumatic breast cancer treatments, I am left reflecting – I am left hoping – the only way that I can personally consolidate the assaults on my body is to accept that had I done nothing, I would have died. So, for me, early detection did save my life (at least that is necessarily my current view). Early detection wasn’t a wasted effort.

    So, maybe early detection doesn’t save all lives, but to say it saves none would again be unfair to those who have survived breast cancer treatment. It would be unfair to those of us who live through the side affects and aftermath of treatment.  We need to believe that acting quickly to treat our not-yet-metastatic breast cancer was the right thing. We need to be believe that early detection helped reduce the severity of our treatments and the spread of our disease.

    I won’t be able to tell you that early detection saved my life until I die; however, I will tell you that I believe that I caught my breast cancer early. I believe that early detection meant that the cancer had not spread to my lymph nodes before I sought treatment. It reduced the impact of my treatments (I didn’t need radiation), although my treatments were pretty extreme (chemo and bilateral mastectomy) – and now hormone therapy (which is a misnomer as it involves the blocking of hormones rather than providing hormones). For me, I have to believe that early detection saved my life, cause otherwise, all the hell of treatment was for nothing, and I simply cannot believe that.

    So, for 20-30% of women, early detection will make no difference. For the rest of us, it will save our lives.

  • Today I wanted to share these posts about food from a dying cancer patient

    Today, I want to share with you two very well written and informative blog posts by Ann at Breast Cancer? But Doctor …. I hate pink!

    In the first post Ann eloquently talks about the challenge of eating while experiencing what she informs us is known as cancer anorexia cachexia. As someone who is going through the end-stages of terminal cancer, Ann generously shares with us her experiences. She describes what it feels like to be that person who no longer has any desire for food. She explains about how it is different from not having an appetite.

    As someone who loves food, I cannot imagine being in that position. I cannot imagine what it would feel like to no longer have any desire to eat. I cannot imagine what that feels like, but Ann does a good job helping me understand what she is experiencing.

    In her second post, she provides useful tips for caregivers. Even more important than understanding her experience, giving loved ones the tools to know how to help is immensely valuable. The job of the caregiver is never easy – so having a sense of real concrete things that one can do to help really matters.

    So, thank-you Ann for sharing your experience. Your blog posts have touched me.

  • Heard a statistic the other night …

    I heard a statistic the other night. I’m not sure of its source, but I wanted to demonstrate a logical fallacy.

    The statistic I heard was that 70% of women with metastatic breast cancer were diagnosed with metastatic cancer at initial diagnosis. What this means is that 70% of the women living with metastatic breast cancer were metastatic when diagnosed. What this does not mean is that 30% of women diagnosed with breast cancer are early stage. It also does not mean that 30% of women who are diagnosed early stage will become metastatic.

    You see, in each case the denominator is changing. They are independent statistics. In the first you are saying that of all the women with mets today, 70% had mets when they were diagnosed.

    The second statistic is about all women. So the numbers are in no way related to one another.

    The third statistic is about all women who were diagnosed with early stage breast cancer. So again, the numbers are  in no way related to another another.

    Each statistics is fundamentally different – they have different denominators. One of the numbers tells you nothing about the other numbers, because the groups involved are fundamentally different.

    So, it leaves me wondering, where does the 30% of all breast cancers will progress to metastatic come from? This is a great mystery, but I found myself wondering, is it simply a matter of someone not understanding the math? Someone not understanding that 70% of something does not imply 30% of something different, even if that something different kinda sounds like the opposite of the 70%?

    I don’t know, but I’ve learned to be careful when I hear numbers thrown around. So I make no promises that any of the numbers that I’ve stated above are in any way correct numbers. I just wanted to demonstrate the point that it is easy to think numbers are related to one another, when in fact they are completely different statistics.

  • In-Training

    Back at Medicine X Ed, one of the speakers mentioned an online journal that was written and run by medical students, called In-Training. I tweeted out asking if they would accept articles written by patients? I was encouraged to submit something. And so, I’ve been reflecting on various experiences to see if they might be valuable to share specifically with medical students.

    Moments ago, my first article went live. It is a really short piece where I talked about my trip to the emergency room – you can read it here: Teachable Moments: An Evening in the Emergency Room.

    As I reflect back on my experiences of the last year and half, I have a few other stories that are likely worthy of articles. I’m glad I’ve found a venue for publication of them (besides this blog).

    Just as I was about to give up and not post something for today’s #nablopomo, I got the announcement that my article was live 🙂 … just goes to show how even when you are experiencing blog writers block, the universe throws you something to talk about …

  • Would a female doctor have written the same prescription?

    The lymphedema doctor said that I needed to wear a level 2 compression garment on my left arm and hand until the swelling goes away – anytime that I’m awake. This could be 6-12 months or never. In addition, I need to wear level 1 compression on my right prophylactically when I: fly, am over 4000 feet, and when I exercise. Somehow, the original prescription for sleeves missed that I need to have one to wear while I was washing the other – especially after exercise.

    He also prescribed a specific brand – Juzo. I’m not sure why that brand over any of the others. They mostly do medical grade flesh colored garments – which is what insurance pays (at least part of). What insurance doesn’t cover is nice pretty garments. The doctor didn’t say anything directly bad about the pretty colored ones, he just questioned whether or not they provided truly medical grade compression.

    I find myself wondering, if the lymphedema doctor was female, would she be more in favor of the pretty colored garments? Would a female doctor better appreciate the desire to look “pretty” even while wearing a medical sleeve?

    I surprise myself at my desire for vanity here. I rarely dress up. I am most often seen wearing yoga pants or hiking shorts – so why do I feel the need to have a pretty sleeve?

    I also wonder if having a pretty sleeve increases compliance? I think for me it will. I’m more likely to wear something that I think is fun and pretty, then something that is dull and makes me look like I have something wrong with me … but that’s just me.

    NaBloPoMo November 2015

  • Authentic celebrity experience

    I don’t often follow celebrity experiences with breast cancer. For the most part, they annoy me. They try too much to simplify the experience into a single message – often one that is overly simple, not accounting for the complexities of the disease and the women who have to face it.

    It was with this not so positive attitude that I decided to watch the short clip of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt on the today show. I was immediately impressed with the way in which they shared her recent scare. How authentic it felt. There was no preaching about what the “right way” to be a previvor.

    Previvor is a term used for those with the genetic mutation (typically BRCA or BRCA2) that puts women and men at significant risk for breast or ovarian cancer, but have not yet been diagnosed with an invasive form of the cancer. I use the term “not yet” intentionally, as some of the statistics for those carrying the gene are staggering.

    Since I don’t carry the BRCA gene, I haven’t done much research into that area. I did, however, find a great too created by Stanford Researchers to help women with the BRCA genes understand the different risks based upon their age and treatment options: Decision Tool for Women with BRCA mutations.

    I do think the decisions that previvors need to make are in many ways a lot more difficult than the decisions those of us with invasive cancer have to make. I didn’t really have that many choices to make. I had a lot of invasive cancer. All my surgeons agreed that bilateral mastectomy was the recommended surgical treatment. I was not having to decide to remove healthy tissue that may never develop into cancer. I had cancer in both breasts – there was nothing prophylactic about my treatment. I cannot even begin to understand how difficult that decision would be – but Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt do a great job of helping to show the complexity of some of those emotions.

    NaBloPoMo November 2015

  • This is epic!

    I am so excited … I got an email the other day saying that I have been accepted to the January 3-9 Winter Epic Experience camp. It is all a little crazy, but also really exciting.

    The winter camp activities include cross country skiing and snow shoeing. Prior to cancer I was an avid cross country skier. Last winter, I was in treatment. Chemotherapy and surgery meant there was no chance of me doing an adventure camp. Heck, last January I struggled to walk around my townhouse complex!

    I find that my health improves the most when I have a concrete target for it. This summer my goal was training for the Avon walk (39.3 miles in two days). A month before the walk I was only able to walk 2-3 miles. I had told myself that I’d be OK if I only did 5-6 miles each of the two days of the Avon walk. But I still kept on training. We spent a week on vacation in the Eastern Sierra’s (blog posts here). Each of the hikes we did helped me get stronger. The weekend before the Avon walk I was able to do two 10-mile hikes. That was a first for me. I’m proud, and kind of amazed, to say that I ended up walking 32.5 miles in two days. The concrete target allowed me to push myself. I did things I never thought I could.

    I won’t be new to cross country skiing or snow shoeing. I’ve done both before. However, I have done neither since my cancer treatment. My body isn’t the same as it used to be. I’m going to have to do some more work to help ensure that I’m strong enough to get the most out of my Epic Experience. I now have a focus for my exercise.

    A friend mentioned that she doesn’t sign up for these things because she would do them on her own. She doesn’t want to take someone else’s seat. For me, this is an awesome opportunity. It is a chance for me to try things that I used to love in a safe and supportive environment. If the constraints of my new body mean that I need to do things differently, I will have the support there to help me figure it out. People will understand when things are difficult. There is so much that happens when you are a room full of cancer survivors that is different than doing things on your own. In many ways, it is that aspect that I’m looking forward to the most. It is the new friends that I will make. It is the shared experiences.

    I’ve also never been to Colorado before. I can almost smell the mountain air. I’m a little scared about spending a week over 4000 feet altitude (a challenge with lymphedema) – but I’m also so looking forward to it. One of the things I miss being in California is winter. We would have spent time at Tahoe had I been healthy, and had there been snow. So, I missed winter last year. I miss the smell of snow.

    Did I say, I’m so excited!

    NaBloPoMo November 2015

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