Three Years

I've heard from many of you that you want an update - how am I doing? How are things now? The short answer is, I am well. The cancer hasn't recurred. My sense of self has come back, for the most part. But, especially at this time of year, I feel echoes of three years ago.

Three years ago this morning, I woke up knowing that in just a few hours I would be caught up in the medical machinery of surgery - the gowns and IVs, the businesslike bravery expected of patients, the paperwork and formal rituals of permission. And I knew that the next time I woke up would be in recovery, with bags of saline where my breasts had been. My memories are faded now, with certain moments standing in to represent the day.

I remember waking in my bedroom, it was still dark, and chilly. I sat up, and the reality of it all - the cancer, the surgery, the changes - all hit me at once. In a moment, though, the inevitability of it all settled in, and I brushed those quick tears away.

I remember seeing myself whole for the last time, in the shower. I wasn't worried about losing my breasts and looking normal as much as I was just...attached to a part of me. Those tears went with the water, and I hardly felt them.

I remember being in the car in front of the hospital, in the moment before committing - once I opened my door, the process would take over. My mother had reminded me the night before that by the end of this day, I wouldn't have cancer anymore. I concentrated on her words, her voice as she said them - the hope, and the excitement - and opened the door.

I remember the funny busy-ness of the prep, all of which felt so unreal. I remember Dr. S's cool hands on my chest as she marked out the territory with a Sharpie. I remember fighting with the nurses to let me keep my wedding ring on while I was in surgery - a way to hold love in my hand, and a way to not be completely naked and unprotected.

I remember the last few minutes, alone with Zack, before they wheeled me off, a space of safety carved out of a frightening day.

I remember waking up, groggy, feeling like I'd done a zillion chest presses before being wrapped in an iron band. It hurt to breathe, nausea and tightness and pain all inextricable, and too much for my drug-fogged mind to tease apart.

I remember my parents, standing in the doorway of my room, lit from behind by the light of the hall. They just wanted to see me - to assure themselves that no matter what had happened to me, I remained.

Many of these feelings rstay with me, even now. In quiet moments, I'll sometimes be startled by the enormity of it all - the loss, and the fear, and the hurt - but the routines of everyday life soon damp it back down and I go on. I'll sometimes pause, wishing I could just have a little more time to come to grips with things, but I know that a day will pass in 24 hours, no matter what happens in that day. And I can do anything for 24 hours. I still find myself reaching for strength, for support, and my choice to finish my doctorate - and the isolation that requires - sometimes resonates with the sense of overwhelming aloneness and vulnerability cancer treatment could create.

The treatment I am on now - the hormone therapy to keep any residual cancer at bay - is easy, relative to the chemo, surgery, and radiation I went through three years ago. At the same time, it is difficult in a different way. It is constant, and permanent, and irritating, and must be integrated with my regular life. The medicine accelerates the processes of age - wrinkling, aches and pains, insomnia, difficulty putting on muscle mass, etc. The inevitable emotional transition from being a young, desirable woman to being a middle aged, invisible woman is inextricably linked in my mind to the cancer and surgical de-sexing that I went through. Veterinarians call it "altering", and I do feel, in many ways, altered. I know that this is where I should say something enlightened about creating my own sense of sexy youth, that femininity is inside not outside, and that cancer survivors can be cancer vixens, too. But even this, that I know what the "proper" response is but can't seem to make myself have it, in some ways complicates my feelings about the whole matter. Besides, I have never liked pink.

The transition from patient-to-person has been hard (though, it is an extraordinarily nice problem to have). I'm often skeptical of good things - that they will last, or that there isn't a nasty surprise buried inside. I'm easily tired, I ache, and have physical limitations that I need to work around, all of which can be frustrating. I find myself feeling alone and isolated. And, I am very, very tired of trying to find shirts that fit.

But here I am, in 2010, past the halfway mark on the journey to 5-year survival. That I'll be OK, that I will *live*, gets more real with every milestone. In many ways, the troubles I've had are all repurcussions of taking on the mantle of an everyday, ordinary life in all its unpredicatable joy.

So, again, in short, I am well. I am working at a job I enjoy. I am finishing a dissertation that...I will finish. I have family and friends to love. Zack is happy in his new profession. Mostly, I get up every day and do what needs doing, look for joy where I can, and make things work. Like anyone does. Because a post-cancer life is an ordinary life, with everything that means. If you would think of me today, do so by remembering what you live for, and what gives you joy.

18 Months!

Well, she did it! She made it to the 18 month mark cancer free. We are celebrating and doing a little happy dance. Next goal is 5 years. We can do it!

This weekend (6/6 & 6/7) is the Avon Walk. Lynn is going to walk 1.5 marathons in 2 days. If you are interested in meeting up with her anytime during the walk, give me a call on my cell. If you don't know it, email one of us and we'll give it to you. A big thank you to everyone for their support in this--it is a big accomplishment for Lynn and a big day for breast cancer research.

More Info Here (Don't Forget to Check the Cheering Stations)

The Story

Lynn did an interview with NPR's "The Story". It aired yesterday afternoon. As if you all didn't know, she is wonderful. Enjoy and feel free to post comments here. As you are all well aware, this took a great deal of effort for Lynn to do and it was a very selfless act. I would request (not that I assume that any of you would do otherwise) that you are all sensitive in your comments here and to Lynn about the show.