I see he showed up and brought you a chocolate cupcake. Luckily he didn't leave it under your pillow.
Countdown begins on radiation treatment; just one more regular treatment tomorrow then 5 boosts to the scar and chest wall. My radiation oncologist said I could have 2 boosts a day but they'd have to be six hours apart. I declined that opportunity since I neither want to sit around the medical center for 8 hours nor drive a total of 4 hours a day back and forth. Just doesn't sound that appealing from where I'm sitting. At any rate, by November 15 I'll be 'done'... and hopefully not overcooked. I'm already wondering how I'll react emotionally to being released from active treatment. I have looked forward to this since it all started last January, but now I'm thinking it will be a little scary. Like now I'm on my own... eeek. Of course I'll see my medical oncologist every 3 months for the next 2 years, so that's a little reassuring. (First, that he expects me to be around for 2 more years... woo hoo.) Now if I can manage to not be hit by a bus. I'd like to say that I've had some major life-altering moments with this experience but mostly it's been an assembly line of medical appointments and scary stuff I never wanted to do. I'm mostly just glad that my initial terror has finally subsided, at least most of the time.
It's interesting that pre-treatment carries the frustration of "doing nothing" and post-treatment also carries the frustration of "doing nothing," while in the middle you're occupied with "this sucks." But it seems as though everything has gone "textbook best case" for you so far I guess I'd find it tough to completely let my guard down. I'm sure that BC forum you were on is full of "I try to not think about it" stories, to the extent members linger once they're at this stage.
I believe the fact that there's no cure for cancer leaves a patient on high alert for life. It can be beat back, many times for the remainder of a person's life which may be many years. The fact is that once you have cancer, you will have that sword hanging overhead forever. I just hope I can live a somewhat normal life and not drive myself nuts with "what ifs" and "what's THATs". I won't be staying on the BC forum once I've moved beyond active treatment. It's a scary and depressing place for the most part. People who have had successful treatment usually move on, leaving the metastatic (stage 4) patients and a bunch of terrified newbies who are either newly diagnosed and in shock, or waiting on test results and going crazy with fear. I learned a lot there and got amazing support from others in treatment, but I hope to put the emotions behind me if I can.
I, like you, put all the specialized health forums behind me once I reached my new normal. I use what knowledge I gained and what support I can offer about my battles with cancer and virus on a personal level and on forums such as this. No doubt your threads will be found by other senior women searching the internet for information on breast cancer. Optimism is the word when dealing with deadly diseases. My visit to the Oncologist this week will be my last if all the tests come out as he expects. My PCP will do the yearly test and evaluations and if no indications of cancer, then no more Faye sashay down the halls of hell at the cancer center. The idea that I will be cut loose, weaned, or kicked to the curb this week is bitter-sweet. I am still coming to grips with the DNA cancer genetics cloud of doom that surrounds me. Convincing myself that I will be in the lucky 13% is a real mind game. I still plan to live to be 100 just to be a thorn in the side of society. I knew you could do it, Beth. Any doubt I had disappeared when you wrote of your tantrums. Nothing scares cancer worse than an optimistic girl having a tantrum.
i have been reading your diary for quite sometime... it's heartbreaking that you have been going thru all the treatments...sickness and fears...you seem to have more courage than most would... all the battles you are fighting to win this war... i am sorry that i have had no response or emotional support during it all... your recovery is imminent...God speed...hugs
Just look at it this way, my friend... SOMEONE has to be in that "lucky 13%"... so it might as well be YOU!
What a sweet and uplifting post, Teresa. Thank you so much; I appreciate everyone's support so much. The fact that you wrote this post to me is uplifting so don't ever feel that you "had no emotional support." I'm no different than the thousands of other women (and men) who are in treatment; we just do what we have to and hope for the best. Honestly I have no courage at all, though I wish I did. You are very kind.
Today I was in the radiation waiting area (where we sit in hospital gowns waiting to be called in to the Room of Dread.) There was a loud-mouth woman sharing her cellphone conversation with all of us, though we were unwilling participants. She finally ended the call and began quizzing the rest of us about our cancer and what treatment we've had, obviously ready to play the "my cancer is worse than yours" game. I trumped her with Inflammatory and she audibly gasped... saying "ohmigawd, the BAD kind." Guess I missed the memo on exactly which cancers are the "good kind," but thankfully I was called back to treatment and escaped further interrogation. Today's musical section of 'Tunes to Be Radiated By' included Joe Cocker, The Eagles, and a sprinkling of the BeeGees. No more Johnny Cash.
what you wrote makes me cry with the thankfulness of your understanding and strength...I just love you
Woohoo! Friday! Pretty good day today; not much traffic going/coming from the med center. Looking forward to a relaxing weekend (though I might get a wild hair and dust something). My darling daughter thought today was my last treatment and sent me these... I must have done something right with those kids of mine.