Dear Anything But Easy Tribe,
The rollout of the Straight-No-Chaser Toolkit for Doing Hard Things is on pause this week - life threw me something big and I want to bring you along for it.
My 1-year Cancerversary is coming up on September 13. For those not familiar, a Cancerversary is a deeply personal and highly individual milestone in the journey of someone who has experienced cancer. They mark any number of pivotal moments, such as the day of initial diagnosis, the last day of treatment, the day when tests revealed no evidence of disease (NED), or any other date of significance. September 13, 2024 was my last day of active treatment for breast cancer.
My NED-aversary - the day my oncologist told me there was no longer any evidence of the disease - is August 19 so I had my 1-year check-in today. (I'm writing this on the evening of August 25.)
The days leading up to today's appointment were filled with a lower-than-usual level of scanxiety. Instead of the typical fear, overwhelming worry, and emotional distress that I've become accustomed to whenever I need to have any sort of medical test, I only felt a bit restless and craved my conditioned comfort food, French fries. I was feeling very proud of myself with how far I've come with my physical, emotional, and mental health during the past few years! Additionally, based on my last oncology appointment, I expected to "graduate" today to only needing annual checks.
Turning into the hospital campus brought back a flood of memories - it's been 6-months since I was last here, yet I remembered exactly where to go to get to the somewhat secret parking lot where I could always easily find a parking space, no matter how busy the hospital was or how close to my appointment time I was cutting it. (I've had a life-long struggle with time…but that is another post for another day). Today I was happy to reconfirm that the somewhat secret parking lot continues to serve me well.
My appointment started out predictably enough - my doctor confirmed my scar tissue was remodeling and that my upper body strength was developing back nicely. I thought I would be out of there in 15 minutes.
I ended up staying for 75.
Because my doctor found a lump on my left side.
Time seemed to slow, the sound of her voice became muddled in my ears, and I could feel my heart dropping.
She explained to me that if there is a breast cancer recurrence in patients that have had a mastectomy, it typically occurs above the chest muscle underneath the skin. Since there is no longer any breast tissue, any lumps are more easily able to be felt.
She reassured me to not worry yet - the lump could be a benign fat necrosis cyst or it could have been there all along and she only found it since more of my scar tissue had remodeled since my last visit. And if it turns out to be something more, then she will take care of it. But for now, she'll see me in 6-months or sooner if I notice the lump getting bigger.
I held it together pretty well as I checked out, but the tears started streaming as soon as I exited her office. By the time I reached my car, I was uncontrollably sobbing, gasping, and gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles were white.
How could this be happening?!
I thought I'd be steadfastly continuing on my road to healing. I finished the last chapter in a book that no longer felt like my story and was taking steps to live my life on my own terms. I cherished the time I shared with family and friends. I worked so hard to protect my peace. And, this might be the most painful part, how could I have not noticed it?
The rest of the day was emotionally heavy. Last year when I was diagnosed, I was scared and felt fragile, but also knew that I was going to put everything I had into treatment to survive. A double mastectomy was going to give me my best chance and lowest risk of recurrence - so that is what I did. I cleaned up my eating, stopped drinking alcohol, made yoga a priority in my daily routine. I actively reduced my stress. I did everything I was told to do to decrease my chances of cancer coming back as much as possible. But the news today…
There's a hollow ache in the pit of my stomach and a flicker of rage - I feel like my body is betraying me.
I don't know what my Cancerversary will look like now. I've never been good at 'just waiting'. And I have no idea how to temper my anger at the unfairness while not giving in to the terrifying uncertainty. But one thing I do know is that I have to keep walking, even if it's one tiny baby step at a time.
And if the lump turns out to be something more, at least I can count on the somewhat secret parking lot - because even when my body's unreliable, that parking lot never lets me down.
In closing, I'd like to leave you with something I learned from the children's tv show, Bluey - it's the checklist Chilli taught to Bingo to use when dealing with difficult emotions:
"Have a little cry."
"Pick myself up."
"Dust myself off."
"Keep going!"
In grit and grace,
Such a powerful read, thanks so much for sharing your story and really wishing you all the best
Sending you love and strength, warrior mama.