Six Months....All Clear

Today I had my first official post-cancer checkup with Dr. B. and I remain NED (no evidence of disease). Go body! I know we said we were done with the blog, but for those of you who still sneak back to see if we maybe said something else, I'll still post about the big medical checkups.

The cancer statistics for recurrence and survival take the 'definitive surgery' as the post-cancer starting point. So even though I feel like my post-cancer journey started in April, after the final surgery, I am officially 6 months out. I really can't imagine how people who do chemo after their mastectomies feel about the starting point - I certainly wouldn't feel 'post-cancer' if I were still bald and having bucket days. I have a hard enough time accepting radiation as cancer free time.

The transition back from my cancer adventure has been much harder than I imagined. This makes me pretty grumpy: since I had 13 days from diagnosis to chemo at the beginning, I feel like it would be fair if I only needed two weeks to transition back. Thank heavens I am an academic and get summer vacation - I have really needed the time to get my head (and heart) around everything that happened to me this year.

An example - I cry instantly, without warning, and seemingly without (specific) cause. Now this could be because a) I spent a year facing my own mortality and am dealing with the emotional aftermath that I didn't have time for while I was busily trying not to die, b) I got hacked into, had bits removed, was irradiated, poisoned, lost 15 pounds, and I have no remaining physical reserves, c) I have no estrogen, and am newly in menopause with all the emotional volatility that implies, d) the medicine I am taking to prevent a recurrence makes my joints hurt which keeps me from sleeping very well, so I am seriously overtired, or e) my joints hurt all the time, and my pectoral muscle adhered to my ribs so moving my arm hurts, and not being able to reach down and put on my own socks gets very frustrating. No matter which explanation - or combination - holds true, I am still pissed off because it is further evidence that I am not better yet, don't have control of my body yet, and because I WON, dammit. The rules are: you win, everyone cheers, and you go home and feel better. I am scared to death that even if the cancer doesn't come back - and, oh yes, I am afraid of it coming back - I am still going to hurt all the time, forever. I can accept that I had to have a mastectomy to get the cancer out, and I can accept that the reconstruction didn't work so I look very different. What I didn't anticipate, and didn't expect, was that the mastectomy site would continue to hurt and that I wouldn't get my full mobility back. Every time I reach for a coffee cup, use a paintbrush, or take a deep breath I can feel the painful stretch across my ribcage. Just a teeny, constant reminder of the cancer. But how do I stomach complaining that I hurt when my chemo-buddy, the woman who showed me the ropes, soothed my fears, and taught me about bravery and grace in the face of cancer, she died while I lived.

Clearly, I haven't put this experience behind me yet. I do know things will get better, but this transition has been difficult. I also haven't lost sight of how unbelievably lucky I continue to be - when the joint pain started we thought it was cancer in my bones. Do I wish I didn't hurt? Absolutely. Would I choose pain over death? Duh. But I still cry at nothing.