Tag: breast-cancer

1 in 8

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Statistically speaking, one in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in her lifetime. I am one in eight. I know several women who also carry this undeserved title. These women look just like you and me. Cancer doesn’t discriminate based on the color of your skin or your age. It impacts people from all walks of life, backgrounds, etc. It doesn’t care if you are rich or poor, who you married to, if you are married, if you are a cat person, or prefer dogs.

Today, we celebrated women that had or are currently battling breast cancer. We held a spa day at my cousin’s hair salon who donated her time, talent and space. I will be forever grateful. My ride or die, aka, sister also donated her time by painting participants’ nails in lovely shades of pink. A dear friend captured the day and the moments. Brunch was served with champagne but what day doesn’t go with champagne (all days ending in “y” go with champagne if you are wondering).

I listened as they shared their stories of how their cancer was found. One mentioned it was found on her first mammogram. Others talk about how long it had been since they had finished treatment. Another decided it was time to support other fighters and discussed how important the mental fight was. It was a moving experience. Some women knew each other; others met for the first time. One single diagnosis- cancer- brought these women together for one day, for a few hours. Bonding was instant. Love felt.

What I liked most about the day was when it came time to pop the pink confetti. None of us really knew how to use the canister but when successful, the loud popping sound made us jump and laugh in delight. The surprised expressions were priceless.

When you are diagnosed, you often feel alone, on an island. Days like these provide not only support but a feeling of hope. Hope is powerful. One in eight. I know I work with more than 8 women at work. I see more than eight women at church.

Recently, I had another pet scan (maybe number 6 but whose counting; oh, that’s right, me). A spot on my sternum lit up that had lit up previously but not mentioned in the scan right before this last one. I honestly thought it had gone away. Disappointment set in and a kind of dread then mental fatigue set in. But, after today, with this group of women, I remembered I wasn’t alone. The fight continues. The white flag has not been thrown. I’ll know more on Monday when I see the oncologist.

I am not going to be afraid. I am one in eight. I will represent the one in eight. I am thankful to be able to support the one in eight. Cancer, if it hasn’t figured me out yet needs to know that I am going to keep on keeping on. I was raised by Fried Green Tomatoes (Towanda) and Steel Magnolias. The strongest people I knew were my grandmothers and their sisters.

I am polite because I was raised and I am Southern, but don’t take my politeness as weakness, sweetheart. I am a fighter. I am stubborn. I am one in eight.

Seven pink breast cancer awareness ribbons arranged on gray fabric
Rows of pink awareness ribbons symbolize solidarity in the fight against breast cancer.

YOU’VE been selected ….

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The words jumped from the page as I read about the study, I agreed to participate in regarding resilience in people living with metastatic breast cancer. “You’ve been selected” used to mean someone received a scholarship or a job. Now, it meant you’ve been diagnosed with something, and we want to study you. I’m flattered. Ed McMann didn’t present any balloons, just a knock on the door from a sweet lady almost timidly asking if I’d consider while I waited to see the oncologist. Yes, I want to help others, so the answer was a resounding yes but when you read the words it hits a little differently. You- who was you? It was me. I looked around at all the You’s in the waiting room later.

When God selects you for something, specifically a chronic disease. It’s easy to question things, almost automatic. Chronic is defined as a problem that is long lasting and not easy to eradicate. In the simplest terms it means it ain’t going away or if it is you are going to have to fight like hell.

Now mentally most days the word chronic doesn’t bother me as I have no obvious symptoms but when it’s time to see the oncologist, it’s a reminder of what my reality is. People with chronic diseases live everyday with the fact that they may not get better.

Two words that must sustain me are hope and faith while also being realistic. When “you’ve been selected” , a weird type of math plays in your mind. If x = the number of years, then y= how old my kids will be. Therefore, z= what I will be around to see. I understand that really only God knows x but when “you’ve been selected” you are more aware of time.

Time comes into factor with me when I go to the see the oncologist not before. I wait and let out an abated breath when I pass the test of this visit. I leave feeling mentally exhausted and have two hours to mull around the words spoken to me- scans, hope, as long as this works. Then magically, I try reappearing normal when it’s time to get my kids and go to soccer practice.

Well-meant people ask how I am, and I lie telling them “I’m great!” They say things like “you look so good.” Again, all well-intentioned but I know I can and may look worse down the road as cancer looms. Cancer is a bastard as that it can appear to be dormant but still be a seed waiting to sprout. When it’s chronic, it’s just waiting the right conditions and the medicine’s goal is literally to beat the hell out of the cancer so all it can do is lie.

After I have a day to reset and refocus, thanking God for a good appointment, I focus back on what really matters- my family, my work and living the best version of myself. I don’t let the word chronic mock me or cancer try to get the best of me. “You’ve been chosen” doesn’t seem so bad, a battle cry of sorts now, a way to do God’s work.

I’ve been chosen and I will help others with this ugly disease. I am glad to be chosen as I have the support and the means to fight. Chronic, pssh, in the words of the late Tom Petty, “I won’t back down. You can stand me at the gates of hell, but I won’t back down.”

The Lighter Side of Cancer

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I first want to thank everyone for their thoughts and prayers during my 2nd cancer battle. I will be forever grateful, more than I can express or put into words, without fighting back tears. Thank you, thank you!

Fighting cancer requires a sense of humor and a sense of humility. I find ways to laugh throughout treatments and look for the brighter side of cancer. Just as I try to share the hard parts of my journey, I vow to also share some funny moments, beginning with my first two injections.

The first two injections were performed by two nurses, one on each side of, um, how shall I say, my backside. They sprayed to numb the area and administered the doses at the same time. It takes a literal minute for the medicine to go in. I found myself staring at the chair, wondering what type of conversation I should have while they administered the shots. “Should I ask about the weather?” “How did they meet their significant other?” “Do they have kids?” “Does it look okay back there?” “Are we now all dating as this has to be at least 2nd base?” I can only hope that I get the same nurses next time, as maybe this could be some kind of weird bonding thing.

Earlier in the day, as we prepared to go into the elevator at the Kirklin Clinic, a gentleman sped out of the elevator on a scooter that was surprisingly faster than any I had ever seen. Questions entered my mind- “Does he need a license to drive that thing?”Did he rig it to go that fast?” “Where can I get one?” I mentioned the scooter to another elevator passenger, and she said, “Well, sh*t, my mother would have gone too fast on one of those.”

The day continued to be interesting while waiting for the aforementioned injections. A lady stood up and commanded the audience in the waiting room adjacent to mine. She said, “Good morning” with a strong declaration that commanded the audience to respond back strongly, “Good morning.” Then, she delivered one of the most eloquent sermons I’ve heard- short but sweet. “There are people who wish they could be where you are; do not give up. You are going to be okay.” Now this was not verbatim, but you get the idea. The waiting room and I were lifted from her short sermon. I was reminded that God can use anyone to deliver his messages and Testimony.

Cancer has forced me to consider my diet and to exercise more frequently. Quite frankly, something I should have always been doing, but sometimes it takes a diagnosis to force my hand.

I started taking my medication this week as well, with no side effects, a blessing. My prayer is that it works in halting the growth and spread of my cancer. I pray for strength and focus, not letting my mind go down the wrong path. I pray for patience and understanding. I pray to use this journey in hopes of helping others. I pray for a continued sense of humor and to laugh even when it’s easier to cry.

When I started blogging about my journey, it was in 2021, and I had just joined the “C” club. Now, with my 2nd invitation to the club, I declare myself Madam President.

Rise Up (I will).

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One, two, three, four, and how many centimeters are each? What does a centimeter look like? Damn. Why can’t they just use inches? I’ve never been a big fan of math (your dad is a math teacher). Thoughts swirl around in my head like a tennis match —the thoughts are the tennis balls. In which is this located?

Two recent CT scans with contrast show some possible signs of recurrence of cancer; one area being my lungs. I’ve been using Chat GPT to read my reports; ironically, its explanation is more human-like, and the radiology report seems more AI.

I was skipping down the yellow brick road again, and now I’ve veered off back into the dark forest. I thought we had killed this wicked witch; I thought the broomstick was in my hand.

My first DNA test was done on Thursday, and in ten days, it will show whether or not the cancer is back. It is referred to as ctDNA. I also have a pending date for a biopsy. The issue is the tissue. So, I’m chasing the rabbit back into Wonderland, so to speak, with peak highs – “I’ve got this!” to “Is this it?” Satan takes pleasure in the unknown, so I busy myself at work and home, but at night, the tennis match starts over.

I know that my mind and faith are my biggest weapons. I deploy them as often as I can. I am only human, so it waxes and wanes. 40 stares down the road next week with many, many questions. Hopefully, answers will come soon, but until then, I choose to live and rise up despite the uncertainty, fear, and fatigue (the kind that comes with dread).

I hesitated to share this time for some reason. It feels like I have to confess that I failed. However, it’s not that I have failed (I repeat over and over again). God gives us all battles. This is my battle.

We don’t know what we don’t know. I pray it’s not cancer. I accept that it is probably cancer. I call out to my lion, tin-man, scarecrow, and Toto. They, without hesitation, join me to find the yellow brick road again and prepare for battle again. I can’t do this alone. I dust off my ruby slippers. I let the rabbit run away as answers will come soon enough. I rise up (and I will continue).