The end of this road

On November 22, 2011 our breast cancer journey began with my official diagnosis.  Today, with my final radiation treatment, our journey has officially ended.  No one uses the word “cured,” but instead I am considered NED – No Evidence of Disease. 

Paul Tejada Radiation Oncology Center

Got me my final walking papers!

No Boob Fairy this time - just me and my sweetie waiting for the doctor.

I expect to be dating NED – with Ken’s blessing, I’m sure – for many, many, MANY years to come.

It’s been a long eight months.  And back in November I didn’t know that I would struggle at times but that overall my experience would be better than many.  I couldn’t imagine that the fear would dissipate, that I would find joy and blessings in the darkest of moments, and that my soul would recover along with my body.  I couldn’t believe that I’d ever be here, on this spot, with surgeries and chemo and radiation behind me.

But here I am, on the Other Side and feeling human again, normal and useful, and looking forward and ahead to what the rest of my (long) life has to offer.

No journey is ever complete without the proverbial Life Lessons along the way.  Those are always good - but useless if unrecognized.  I wanted very much to spend this time taking notice of my life - but I got a little sidetracked by shiny objects (like needles), or sometimes simply forgot (thanks, Chemo Brain).

I know that I let a lot of people down.  I lived by the motto, “I make plans, not promises,” but that doesn’t mean that people’s feelings weren’t hurt along the way.  I had good intentions that sometimes went wrong – or were simply forgotten – and that bothers me.  I can't make up for those moments, but I am working to let it go and move forward.  I know that those who love me will understand; those who don't understand will hopefully talk to me so we can resolve it.  

People said a lot of interesting things to me along the way, too - none of which I took personally or felt hurt by.  I was simply happy that people were talking to me, instead of not talking to me at all.  It would have been easier to try and ignore what was going on or pretend it wasn't happening.  I have been guilty of that myself in the past, even recently.  Words like "cancer" tend to bring up really uncomfortable and scary feelings and maybe memories, and sometimes it's overwhelming to deal with.  I had to first deal with my own fears, and then realize that others may have had their own fears, too.  

At the same time, I lost some friends along the way, too – some through the front door, others through a back window.  It took me a while to fully understand that it wasn't about me, but it still hurt.  In the end I can now honestly say I wish them well and send them love and peace in their own journeys.

I played the Cancer Card, but only in jest.  I never wanted nor expected to be the center of attention, and was often really uncomfortable with the kindness shown by others.  I decided to sit with those feelings for a while to understand why I didn't feel worthy of being recognized...and I ended up in an abyss of self-therapizing that I eventually abandoned because I was driving myself further into therapy.  Sometimes, a cigar is just a big old smelly burny thing that no one really wants around.  And sometimes, we feel things that we have to get over because it's not necessarily about us, it's about others.  

I was supported both near and far by many wonderful friends, and made new friends along the way, too.  None of you realize how much every kind word, every thought, every prayer, every card or hug meant to me.  The energy and positivity helped me on really awful days.  I learned that I am loved - something I knew, but now I know.  I hope you know that you have been with me in my heart every step of the way.  You - yes YOU! 

My family has been the biggest support (and my most vocal cheerleaders!!).  My parents, my sisters, our children, our grandchildren, my in- and out-laws have loved me and cared for me in countless ways.  I was surprised on more than one occasion by visits from afar, always when I needed them the most. 

My relationship with Ken is stronger than ever before, in ways I never could have imagined.  He truly is my rock, my partner, and my best friend.  I never could have finished treatment without him by my side - not because I needed the help, but because my heart needed his encouragement and faith.  He never made me feel guilty for being too tired or in pain or angry or frustrated or simply sick.  He wanted nothing more than for me to get through treatment and come out healthy and alive on the other side.

I found strength in myself that I didn’t know I had (or could have), and determination and resolve that I will carry with me from now on.  I appreciate my life as it is because of its flaws and imperfections, not in spite of them.  Nothing is as important as the interactions and relationships with others; time spent is never time wasted.  Every moment is an opportunity to share a story, a kiss, a dream, a walk. 

Now, today, this particular journey ends - but that means a new journey begins!  I am choosing to leave this cancer behind me, and move forward not as Cancer Girl but as the chick with the cute new 'do.  I doubt that cancer will ever be far from my mind, and I admit that I am already worried about Life After Treatment.  But I can't move forward if I'm stuck in this spot, and so I need to actively let go of What Has Been, and work towards What Will Be.  For me, that means making a few significant changes - in particular, this will be my final blog entry.  I may update it from time to time, if something significant happens, but I need a break (and I'll bet you do, too).   I am going take a vacation, clean my basement, paint my kitchen cabinets, work on my article for publication, run and do yoga, date my husband, play with my grandchildren, and live my life.

Lucy and I need to start healing, and we can't do that in Breastlandia.  It's time to take a new step forward.  So I end this part of my journey - and this part of my blog - the same way I began, with a little twist:

I had cancer, but it did not have me.

Dos Symmetry

That what I thought it was, and I laughed because my girls haven't been symmetrical since surgery...(okay, so it made more sense in my head).

Actually the word is dosimetry (the process of measuring doses of radiation) and the dosimitrist is the person who created this:

My personal plate

This is the plate used to direct the boost of radiation to the surgical area on my chest.  Yesterday was the first of my final seven radiation treatments, called "boosts."  Radiation is no longer being applied to my whole breast (my final treatment was last Friday, and on that day I learned they were using photons - seriously.  I felt like I was in an episode of Star Trek!); instead it is being targeted directly at my tumor site.  So this is my view of the "plate".

This is the general view of the machine:

Finally remembered to bring my camera today!

At the end of the long "tube" attached to the center of the machine is the plate above.  The table rises so that my chest is a few inches away from the plate, and then I am zapped with electrons.  The plate keeps these electrons from the areas that do not need radiation, and allows the electrons to flow through the center "cut out" to my surgical site.  The process takes about 10 seconds, and then it's over.

After 23 doses of full-breast radiation, and now 2 doses of targeted boosts, this is what my chest area looks like:

No, they're not new tattoos; a permanent marker was used to mark the outline of the plate, so that each treatment the plate is in proper alignment (the original tattoos were used to align the machine in conjunction with lasers, which aren't used now).

You may notice very little reddening of the area, which is phenomenal.  For some reason, I have been blessed with very, very tough skin that has reacted minimally to the radiation.  I'm pink in some areas (under my arm in particular, and under my breast), but that's the extent of the visible damage.  My skin is tender to the touch and a different texture than the rest of my skin; the nipple is still changing and very tender.  But no visible burns, blisters or open sores.  It will take a couple more weeks for the radiation to completely leave the area so it's quite possible that the worst is yet to come, but for now I am very pleased with the physical SEs of the treatment.

Still tired, but that's getting better, too.  Every day is a little better, and I look forward to feeling normal again - whatever that's going to feel like.

Treatment is coming to an end very soon, and life will continue to move forward.  It has for everyone else; it will for me, too.  I'm scared, in some ways, about getting back out in the Real World without the safety net of "cancer" to keep me busy and preoccupied. 

Perhaps I'll simply spend time combing my hair...

Every-thing's com-ing up Rose-y...

Today was 21/30 - or 70% of radiation completed.  *insert super-happy face here.*  Two more whole breast treatments, then (starting next Monday) seven "boosts" aimed directly at the cancer site. 

Lucy is pinking up a little bit around the edges; today I was able to see a faint "square" around my breast of pink/tan tissue due to the radiation.  Apparently my skin and tissue will continue to "cook" for another two weeks post-final radiation because - well, because that's what happens when you pop a boob into a microwave for five weeks, I guess.  My skin is tender overall, and (cover your eyes if you're not feeling up to TMI right now) my nipple is turning darker and changing shape (at least I didn't include a picture of it...maybe later...)  I've given up wearing bras, much to Ken's delight, because frankly any fabric against my breast just really hurts right now.  While it's hard to explain, the skin is changing, and I seriously worry about accidentally scratching it off.  Of course my doctor is pleased as punch at how wonderful Lucy is holding up under this continued microwaving, and I am trying to remain optimistic that all will continue on a good path.

The fatigue is getting harder, but it's still good - so much better than chemo-related fatigue.  Mostly, I just don't give a shit about anything.  No, I'm not depressed - there's a general lack of energy, I guess.  Bathroom needs to be cleaned?  Oh, too tired, don't care, whatever.  Water the flowers out back?  I'd rather pray for rain.  Go for a run?  Hell yeah --- after my nap.  So yes, I'm back to napping again (that started this week) and going to bed early.  Can't sleep in late because, well, gotta hop in the microwave at 8:00 every a.m.  Of course my doctor is pleased as punch at how wonderful I'm holding up after five weeks.  Let's be honest, she's just a little too pleased in general, always so danged happy.

But I like my doctors that way - happy and pleased.  And continuing to give me good news. 

Every day is still a good day, even when I don't give a shit. 

Lucy! You got some 'splainin' to do!

While building an Ikea bookcase last weekend I remembered the old phrase, "righty-tighty, lefty-loosey."  And, thus, Lucy (aka My Left Breast) was born.  She joins old friends Mildred, You Bitch and Portia in my cancer journey.

Tomorrow will be 18 of 30 radiation treatments (or 3/5, or 60%!)  I will have five treatments next week, and then 7 "boosts" - radiation targeted specifically at the surgery site.  My last radiation treatment is scheduled for July 24th.

Surprisingly, my skin still looks normal.  I know that will likely change, but even my doctor is pleasantly surprised (goodness knows I am, too).  I have friends who are really struggling with skin issues, some from the very beginning, and again I realize how blessed I have been on this part of the journey.  My left arm is a little "tired," heavy and sore, and we'll be checking for lymphedema next week.  Aaaaannnnddd.....the fatigue is back.  Not nearly as bad as with chemo, but it's there and kinda getting in the way a little.

In many ways, I think this must be the "vacation in Aruba" that everyone alluded to months ago.  Whatever it is, it's a hell of a lot easier than chemo, and a truly pleasant experience in comparison.

I picked up some sunscreen so I could ride in my sister's convertible.  I want to feel the wind in my HAIR!

I has hair!

I has LOTS of hairs!

Yes, I have hair - and I can even feel it "blowin' in the wind" as I work outside in the garden.  My grand-daughter says it's "as soft as a blanket; I want to lay on it."  My head is like a Buddha belly - everyone wants to rub it (hopefully it brings someone good luck!)  It's amazing - I never thought I could be so excited about my hair coming back.  And not just my hair, but my eyebrows are coming in, too.  They're very short, but if I am seeing correctly I'm going to be waxing a unibrow very, very soon.

Oh, Lucy...you just keep on keepin' on, don'tcha girl?