a little c

because I refuse to give it a big one


Posted by wendy on 2011/01/08

It feels like my smile never really hits my eyes anymore, and I don’t know how to change that.  My friend Statia says I look more “soulful”.  Maybe that’s it.  I think a cancer diagnosis makes you more aware of your mortality.  There are days I feel so fragile and breakable, and it is a new feeling for me.  I think I’ve spend the majority of my life feeling bulletproof and of course, that’s not the case.  It isn’t the case for any of us–it’s just that we don’t walk around thinking about our death.

I met my oncologist yesterday for the first time yesterday and we had the discussion about the fact that my cancer had broken away into my lymph nodes.  Granted–just the one.  But, it does means it could have gone into other parts as well, so I’ve got several tests coming up in the next few weeks–a muga scan, a bone scan, a PET scan.  I’m also getting my port put in next Thursday.  More tests, more surgery.  It’s not just physically draining, it’s emotionally so draining on me.  I know it’s all part of the fight to get better and to be well again,  and I know I’ll get through it.  I hope I’ll get through it.  I’m scared of the PET  scan results.  I want so badly for them to find nothing else–to know that there isn’t any more cancer inside me, and I’m terrified that they’ll find something else, which means more tests, more chemo, possibly more surgery (and seriously–I am surgeried OUT, people.  I am so tired of going under the knife that I can barely consider it. ).

I’m all mixed up with fear and determination.  I worry about the effect this will have on my son, because I am all he has, and I have to be around for a very long time for him.  I worry about Pippin and Emma.  I worry about my boyfriend.  I worry about my Mom and my sisters and my Dad.  I know I’m not supposed to  worry about anyone else, but how exactly do you shut that off?  I don’t think you can.  I don’t think I can, at least.  I can’t leave these people.

Maaan, I’m morbid today.  I keep reminding myself that I am a ‘moderate risk’.   I don’t get to tra-la-la my way through this as a low-risk case, but I am not high risk, either.  Just one node had cancer.  Just one.   And, hopefully that is the only bit that spread.  I hope and I pray and I have so many other people doing that as well.  Prepare for the worst, hope for the best—it feels so inadequate right now.

You know, I keep thinking I want to be a GOOD google hit for someone in the future who is trying to find out information on personal experiences with breast cancer.  It’s so easy to find sad stories–but there are also women out there dealing it it every day in the most admirable and brave ways.  I want to be one of those women.  I hope to be one of those women.   I know I have a great deal to work through and I have a lot of really difficult stuff ahead of me, but I want to keep reminding myself that I will get through this.  Some days, that works, some days, it doesn’t.

I want to be brave.  Not just for me and not just for my family, but for other women going through the same thing.   And, there–there is the acceptance finally happening.   I fought so hard against being in the cancer club, but it’s not fighting against the sense of comradeship you feel with the other women going through it–its just fighting again actually accepting that you have cancer.  I am slowly accepting it.  And, in accepting this, I think I am finding a bit more strength to fight it.  I hope.  And, really, hope is one of the things that cancer cannot take away.

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