Fin

On September 22, 2010, Dr. Grandpa told me that the results of my stereotactic biopsy came back malignant.  I had breast cancer.  This doctor, who I had never seen before in my life, just told me that I had the disease that took my mother from me.  It was a horrible, traumatic day - one that I will unfortunately never forget.  I was overcome with every emotion available: shock, fear, sadness, anger, and uncertainty.  I was crying so hard that the nurse in the room with me started crying too.  I couldn't get a hold of my boyfriend, the one person I wanted the most in the world.  It took me about five hours or so, and a lot of stalking, before I was finally able to tell him the diagnosis.  Oh what a horrible day September 22 was.

I cried a couple of happy tears on my way home from my last radiation, also known as Graduation Day.  To say I'm done with active treatment, my God.... I feel like I have climbed the highest mountain and the view is amazing.  I still have a lot of doctors appointments and boob squishy appointments in my future.  Graduation Day doesn't mean I'm done with cancer and never have to think about it ever again.  Graduation Day meant that I got my life back.  No more surgeries (cancer-related ones, at least), no more chemotherapy, no more radiation.  I don't have to go to the hospital Monday through Friday for two months, so I can get my boob nuked.  My life is returning to some semblance of normal.

I had a No More Cancer Treatment Party yesterday.  I wanted to celebrate surviving ten months of needle pokin', allergic reactions, pain, shots, poison, scars, lopsided boobies.  I have absolutely no desire to have anymore celebratory drinks/dinners/cookouts with anybody who couldn't make it to the party.  I want to put cancer on the back burner and get on with my life.  Frankly, I AM BORED TALKING ABOUT CANCER.  I want to go out, see movies, work on my house, go on hikes, anything.  I had a huge handful of friends say, "Sorry I can't come but we'll go out and have celebratory drinks."  I don't want to do that because I need to make a huge concentrated effort to not talk about cancer anymore.  I'm sorry so many couldn't come and celebrate the end of my treatment, but I have no desire to extend this celebration any longer.  I am done.

For a long time, I wondered how I was going to get through this.  I had known all of my adult life that I would come face to face with this disease, but I never thought it'd come at me at 30.  I quickly learned how tiring it was to keep having the same conversation with different family members about my diagnosis, so I created Get Up Swinging as a way to relay information.  If a family member or friend who lived far away wanted to know how I was, then I encouraged all to read this blog.  

I think blogging during an extended illness is an extremely therapeutic.  I was able to think out so many thoughts and emotions going through my frantic mind.  GuS helped me to cope with all my family drama involving my parents' non-involvement, and my self-absorbed, passive-aggressive stepsister blocking me on Facebook.  I never identified her in my original blog posting but anybody who knows me, know I was talking about the Golden Child in my family.  If I didn't have GuS as an outlet at times, I probably would be on a life-time anxiety medication regime.  

My final thoughts...  Just to warn you: there won't be any profound insight about the meaning of life or anything like that.

Cancer doesn't really change who a person is, or at least it certainly didn't change me.  I don't think my personality has gone any dramatic changes.  I might be more of a jerk who's not scared to fight or confront someone who I feel done me wrong (see above: asshole, selfish family members).  I feel that cancer does light a fire under you... oh man, I really feel that fire to go out and get things done.  All the things I have been procrastinating or putting off, like vacations or learning new skills... No more.  I want to go on a long, tropical vacation with my sweetie to Belize.  I will do everything in my power to make this happen.  I have other hopes and dreams that I want to make happen.  

Thank you to everyone who read this and played a part in my treatment/recovery.  I couldn't have survived it without all your help and kind words.  I'll now end this with the quote that perfectly sums up GuS:

If you're going through hell, keep going.  ~Winston Churchill

First Day

My first day of radiation didn't occur exactly the way I was thinking.  I went to the radiation oncology department at the hospital.  I got into my specially made hospital gown with strategic strips of velcro so I don't have to show more of my boobs than needed.  (I appreciate the volunteers who made these gowns, but no matter how you dress it up, radiation isn't pretty.)

The techs ended up doing X-rays of either both boobs or just the cancer boob.  Oh man, they positioned my arms above my head in this bag-slash-pillow and then they said, "You have to stay still for as long as possible."  Oh man, after awhile, my arms and then my hands went numb.  The techs reassured me that once the radiation ball gets rolling, it won't be as bad as it was today.  Good!

This has nothing to do with drinking.  I just love gifs.

All in all, treatment has begun and that's all that matters.  Before I know, my life phase two will begin.  I have to keep in mind that my life is never going to get back to normal or the way it was before.  It's going to become a new normal, and I have to accept that things, including myself, are just not the same anymore.  Accept and adapt.  Before my diagnosis, I was obsessed with working overtime and getting new things and furniture for my home.  Now and then, I'd get drunk with either my boyfriend or friends somewhere. 

I'm happy to say my desire to drink is pretty much gone.  In the last six months, I've drank on two occasions and neither incidents got me remotely drunk.  Unfortunately, a life without alcohol eliminates about 70 percent of my acquaintances and social circle before my diagnosis.  I saw a friend's picture on Facebook which was a group shot of my former drinking buddies.  It didn't bother me whatsoever that nobody told me about this get together 'cuz I don't drink.  I'm not going to be the party pooper and hang around a bunch of intoxicated people while myself sober.  What fun is that - for them or me?  I'm many things and a killjoy isn't one of them, at least I don't want to be one!

I know that along with my diet and work, I'm going to have to accept and adapt to a different social life than the one I had before.  I want to join this Pink Steel dragonboat team if it doesn't interfere with my work schedule.  I want to do more volunteer work and get into photography again.  A new life than the one I had before awaits me, and I'm optimistic that it's going to be great.

Final Phase

From what I understand, tomorrow is my first day of radiation.  I went in on Thursday to get what they called a planning scan.  They positioned my arms, head and cancer boob to the spot they needed and afterwards, marked me in various locations on my torso with a black permanent marker.  The nurses told me that I had to make sure these marks stay on my body for the remainder of my treatment and if they start to fade, retrace them with a Sharpie.

My torso looks like Memento: the cancer edition.

I have two full weeks of medical leave before I have to go back to work.  The thyroidectomy has pretty much delayed everything and because of that, I have to go back to work before I'm done with my treatment.  The doctors thought it'd be best for me to recover from, I guess, major surgery without having to work prior to my radiation treatment.

I'm trying to wrap my brain around the fact that I'll be back to work in three weeks.  I am looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time.  I have to keep in mind that if I can work three or four months during chemotherapy, I can survive seven weeks of radiation.  I won't be sick or have brain fog or the joint pain from the Neulasta shot.  I'll be tired, worn down and probably super uncomfortable in the radiated area.  I won't be sick, though.  I have to keep that in mind and just make it through this last phase of treatment. 

This is the beginning of the end.  I couldn't be happier,  It's been a long eight months and I just have one or so more to go.  Heh.  I was diagnosed at the end of September and should be done with active treatment by the end of June.  NINE MONTHS.  ZOMG, I'M GIVING BIRTH TO A CANCER FREE VERSION OF MYSELF.

The imagery... I slay me sometimes.

And the winner is...

What a week.  I had my first consultation on Tuesday, and that was with my radiation oncologist.  I am going to name this doctor Duke Nuke'm (thanks twin).  Out of all of my doctors, I like this one the most or maybe I'm seeing him in a super favorable light because he's spearheading the final phase of my treatment.  He recommended that I have my thyroid removed prior to radiation.

Which leads us to my Wednesday doctor's appointment.  I met with the surgeon who specializes in thyroids.  He agreed that it's time to take my thyroid out, and we scheduled my thyroid removal for this Tuesday (only two days before my birthday).  I don't care - the thyroid has to come out soon so I can still start radiation within the recommended time frame.  This body part of mine has been a pain in the ass for too long, so it needs to GTFO now.

I know I've written about this before but I'm done celebrating my birthday.  I wanted 30 to be my last birthday celebration, and that's still the case.  30 had some awesome moments - jet skiing, parasailing, white water rafting, getting a puppy.  30 also had some really shitty moments, so it seems almost appropriate for me to end this year drugged out of my mind on pain killers, haha.  I'm keeping my fingers crossed that 31 is the year I get stronger and on my way to recovery.

How I'll celebrate my birthday.

One more week

I keep counting down in my head to March 24.  This day is huge for me.  I have been waiting (im)patiently for this day since last November, and now it's just a week away.  After next week, I will have survived seven rounds of chemotherapy, including one treatment that tried to kill me.  If I had the energy, I would run up and down after my treatment, pumping my fists in the air yelling, "I AM THE CHAMPION."   I'll write it down on my calendar a week from that chemo to:

Run a chemo victory lap.

Right now, I want to show some major love for my chemo nurses because these ladies absolutely rock.  To be a chemo nurse, I think it takes a really special person with nerves of steel.  I have never encountered a surly chemo nurse or anyone who has me recoil and go, "Hmmm.  You're a jerkface."  The nurses in the chemo room are constantly moving from one patient to another to start a new drip or bag.  They are constantly surrounded by people who are sick and some who never get better, yet you never see the stress of that get to them.  At least, they never the let it show to their patients.  They have always been kind, funny and caring providers to me.  

When I went into shock during my first treatment, I was never in any real danger, per se.  My nurse was standing right there and was staring right at me.  As soon as I croaked out, "I'm having chest pains," she went running for the other nurse to come help me ASAP.  They were cool, calm and collected, while I was the panicky, "Zomg, I'm going to die 'cuz I can't breathe" person.  Imagine seeing and dealing with that on a semi-regular basis... talk about a high-stress job.

Finishing chemo is going to be a huge milestone for me.  I imagine when I finish radiation and I'm done with treatment all together is going to be even more insanely awesome.  I don't care what else happens this year, to be honest.  Nothing is going to be as amazing as being done with my cancer treatment.  I can't wait to go out and start enjoying life and making amazing memories with my sweetie.  Life is too short, and I'm looking forward to what Act Two has in store for us.