Picking up the pace on the treadmill ...
I got the pathology results today from my second surgery and I'm happy to report everything came back benign, meaning they didnt find any further cancer cells in the skin specimen they removed. My doctor said because of this she's not forseeing any need for radiation, but will bring my case to the board of about 10 oncologists, surgeons and pathologists just to make sure nobody has a differing opinion.
It's part of the process at Hershey so that each decision made isn't the one of just one individual, but a collective decision of about 10 doctors. This will be the third time my case will be brought above the board.)
But the good news, that we can focus on NOW, is that they didn't find anything else/a clear margin was achieved!!!! Good good good!
Am I relieved? Yes. Ahhhh. (That's the sound of my breathing normally again).
I never know how relieved I'll actually be after getting results. I always think I will be, and then it ends up there's another question, test, anxiety. Like there's never really been a straight "yes" or "no" answer. There's always "I think so" or "I don't think so" and that takes a lot of getting used to. Actually, I don't think I'll ever get used to that. Breast cancer treatment, like I've mentioned before, varies and changes and changes and varies. Decisions are made from test results, and tests are done because certain decisions are made, and the cycle goes on and on. One thing depends on another which depends on another. Chemotherapy treatment would depend on if the cancer had spread to the lymph nodes, which it didn't. Radiation treatment would depend on if more cancer was found in the margin, which it wasn't.
We know this is good news. We know the goal was to get a good and clean margin around where the tumor was. My doctor believed she could achieve this through surgery rather than radiation. And she was right. She did. My tumor was removed in May, and just last week the margin was removed, with no cancer cells in sight.
I am officially cancer-free. And I am relieved, and really, just about as relieved as I thought I would be, which is about a 7 on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the highest level of relief.
It's not the highest level of relief because I'm not done with this yet. This probably is the end of my treatment, yes. But I still have weeks ahead of painful expansion, followed by a month or two of just having the expander in (which is hell), and then another surgery, followed by more recovery. It's overwhelming, but compared to other, more difficult treatment, it seems like a piece of cake. The truth is, my case has been "lucky" since day one. We really only got good news, besides the results from the core biopsy that showed some invasive cancer cells. But it turned out that no invasive cancer was found, the cancer was limited to one spot, it was small, it hadn't spread, and now recently, that the margin was clean. It's all been good news. It was found early and treated early. I did well with both surgeries.
I don't believe I'll ever be fully relieved (at a 10) until years have gone by being cancer-free. There's still checkups every 3 months in which I worry about the cancer coming back, or appearing in the other breast. There's still that worry. There's still the 0.00001 percent chance the board will review my case and recommend radiation. What I realize is that while getting good news from surgery results is amazing and relieving, I won't be "free" of all this physical pain and mental anxiety for a while. Yes, I'm blessed that all this worked out the way it did. But I'm still "in" this. I'm still waiting for more things to happen. But that's OK. It's part of the process.
There have been many times when I imagined myself completely relieved, or "free" of whatever I was holding onto upon hearing certain test results. But it's never that way. That's because there's always been something more.
Example: When I met with my doctor following my surgery, and when we found out my lymph nodes were clean AND no invasive cancer was found (both extremely good things!), there was still the margin she was worried about. Sure, it's small compared to other things she could have said. But it's still something.
And this time around, with these results, we know a third crucial piece of the puzzle:
1. Lymph nodes clean
2. No invasive cancer
3. New: clean margin free of cancer cells
Each piece brings us a little closer to the end, but we're not there yet. I see the end of all this more today than I did yesterday, and certainly more than I did two months ago. It makes me feel good to know not just one, but about 10 doctors look at my case each time, but it's incredibly difficult to accept that until the board reviews my case, there isn't a clear answer. What my doctor said today was pretty straightforward, and that was she doesn't see a need for radiation. So what that means to me is that I probably won't have radiation. But will I ever be able to say: "I WON'T need radiation" rather than "I PROBABLY won't need radiation"? Well, yes, but I'm never able to say things with certainly right away, which is what I crave and expect. I have learned, though, through all of this, is that test results are clear (either the lymph nodes have cancer or they don't, or either the margin was clean or it wasn't), but what comes next isn't always. And that drives me crazy. But that's how it is. Every other breast cancer patient or survivor I talked to has had similar experiences. Lots of tests and waiting and more tests and waiting. Even if a specific treatment or surgery was decided upon and scheduled, what would happen after may not be certain.
And I know that's partly due to my specific case. Had my cancer been invasive or advanced (G-d forbid) chemotherapy would have been given right away. But because it was small, early and non-invasive, the doctors wanted to take time to make the right decisions and take precautions to make sure they could get rid of the cancer while doing the least amount of damage- treatment or surgery I didn't need. Being 26 also comes into play. I believe doctors are more hesitant about doing certain things to a young person who's already had cancer before. Everything needs to be considered carefully, and I get that, but for a person who wants black and white answer now, it's hard.
If I look at the whole picture, I feel lucky and blessed from these results. I'm not done yet, but we just got good news, and things ARE moving along.
I think I'll be at a 10 when my treatment is officially over, my implant surgery is done and my recovery is complete, when I'm back to "normal" (regular physical activity, and no pain driving, opening doors or breathing), and have been cancer-free for many years. Or maybe I'll be at a 10 sooner than that. Or never. Only time will tell.
It took many, many years following my treatment for Leukemia for me to feel that it was gone and it wasn't coming back. Like many other cancer patients/survivors, I worry that the cancer isn't completely gone (though now I know it is), or that it will come back in the same or different place, either one month from now or ten years from now. It's normal to have these fears and I'm working on them and talking about them. It's also important to awknowledge that this anxiety is not going to go away overnight, and I've been through a lot emotionally these past few months which might make it easier to have second thoughts or doubts. It's hard to accept that that's all OK and it won't be like that forever. It sucks and it hurts that I'm going through this, but if I have to go through it, at least I'm doing so, with what I now believe, is flying colors.
Since my diagnosis life seems more magnified. Little things become big things. True, things like driving, sleeping comfortably and going to work take more effort. They're harder and more painful. They're more exhausting. But at the same time, fun things like spending time with friends (ladies nights and coffee dates are my favorite!) are more of an accomplishment. It's true that when you have something scary happen in life you appreciate life more. I think that statement is broad enough to be applied to really any situation or circumstance. But it's not just that: for me, even the little celebrations in life become much bigger not just because it takes effort on my part physically and mentally, but because I am actually proud of myself for having fun through all of this.
The wedding and planning turned from the wedding and planning into something bigger and more monumental: not just a celebration, but a CELEBRATION. When we look to the wedding 7 months from now we see this all behind us, and me a healthy person. We see an accomplishment. We see and will be celebrating a new love and relationship that Sean and I have formed. We've always loved and cared for each other, but now, having gone (and going through) this together, our commitment and future life together takes on more meaning. Our "in sickness and in health" came early. (it's a joke so you can laugh).
I don't think things in life will be magnified forever. I think they are now because what I'm going through is so big and each day takes a new form. I range from excited to scared to nervous to depressed millions of times a day, every day. Things just seem bigger. But I guess that's how it is when your life is temporarily turned upside down. I try, every day, to grasp what I can, do what I can, understand what I can, move forward when I can. But I also let myself feel sad. It's incredibly hard to find a balance and to actually put a description on what I feel day to day, since it changes so much, and literally millions of thoughts are going through my head at any given moment. And it makes me even more anxious to not have one single thought at once, but like a million. I feel very zig-zaggy at times. But it won't be that way forever. I'll eventually be able to see, and think, clearer.
It's a constant battle to keep moving, in any direction, really. I feel as though I'm on a treadmill where I'm walking really hard but not physically going any place. But today, for maybe the first time, the belt on the treadmill became a little looser and a little faster, and I believe I'll be moving on in a different way very soon.
So I guess it's not so bad if I'm at a 7 today. Just three months ago I was at a 1.
I got the pathology results today from my second surgery and I'm happy to report everything came back benign, meaning they didnt find any further cancer cells in the skin specimen they removed. My doctor said because of this she's not forseeing any need for radiation, but will bring my case to the board of about 10 oncologists, surgeons and pathologists just to make sure nobody has a differing opinion.
It's part of the process at Hershey so that each decision made isn't the one of just one individual, but a collective decision of about 10 doctors. This will be the third time my case will be brought above the board.)
But the good news, that we can focus on NOW, is that they didn't find anything else/a clear margin was achieved!!!! Good good good!
Am I relieved? Yes. Ahhhh. (That's the sound of my breathing normally again).
I never know how relieved I'll actually be after getting results. I always think I will be, and then it ends up there's another question, test, anxiety. Like there's never really been a straight "yes" or "no" answer. There's always "I think so" or "I don't think so" and that takes a lot of getting used to. Actually, I don't think I'll ever get used to that. Breast cancer treatment, like I've mentioned before, varies and changes and changes and varies. Decisions are made from test results, and tests are done because certain decisions are made, and the cycle goes on and on. One thing depends on another which depends on another. Chemotherapy treatment would depend on if the cancer had spread to the lymph nodes, which it didn't. Radiation treatment would depend on if more cancer was found in the margin, which it wasn't.
We know this is good news. We know the goal was to get a good and clean margin around where the tumor was. My doctor believed she could achieve this through surgery rather than radiation. And she was right. She did. My tumor was removed in May, and just last week the margin was removed, with no cancer cells in sight.
I am officially cancer-free. And I am relieved, and really, just about as relieved as I thought I would be, which is about a 7 on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the highest level of relief.
It's not the highest level of relief because I'm not done with this yet. This probably is the end of my treatment, yes. But I still have weeks ahead of painful expansion, followed by a month or two of just having the expander in (which is hell), and then another surgery, followed by more recovery. It's overwhelming, but compared to other, more difficult treatment, it seems like a piece of cake. The truth is, my case has been "lucky" since day one. We really only got good news, besides the results from the core biopsy that showed some invasive cancer cells. But it turned out that no invasive cancer was found, the cancer was limited to one spot, it was small, it hadn't spread, and now recently, that the margin was clean. It's all been good news. It was found early and treated early. I did well with both surgeries.
I don't believe I'll ever be fully relieved (at a 10) until years have gone by being cancer-free. There's still checkups every 3 months in which I worry about the cancer coming back, or appearing in the other breast. There's still that worry. There's still the 0.00001 percent chance the board will review my case and recommend radiation. What I realize is that while getting good news from surgery results is amazing and relieving, I won't be "free" of all this physical pain and mental anxiety for a while. Yes, I'm blessed that all this worked out the way it did. But I'm still "in" this. I'm still waiting for more things to happen. But that's OK. It's part of the process.
There have been many times when I imagined myself completely relieved, or "free" of whatever I was holding onto upon hearing certain test results. But it's never that way. That's because there's always been something more.
Example: When I met with my doctor following my surgery, and when we found out my lymph nodes were clean AND no invasive cancer was found (both extremely good things!), there was still the margin she was worried about. Sure, it's small compared to other things she could have said. But it's still something.
And this time around, with these results, we know a third crucial piece of the puzzle:
1. Lymph nodes clean
2. No invasive cancer
3. New: clean margin free of cancer cells
Each piece brings us a little closer to the end, but we're not there yet. I see the end of all this more today than I did yesterday, and certainly more than I did two months ago. It makes me feel good to know not just one, but about 10 doctors look at my case each time, but it's incredibly difficult to accept that until the board reviews my case, there isn't a clear answer. What my doctor said today was pretty straightforward, and that was she doesn't see a need for radiation. So what that means to me is that I probably won't have radiation. But will I ever be able to say: "I WON'T need radiation" rather than "I PROBABLY won't need radiation"? Well, yes, but I'm never able to say things with certainly right away, which is what I crave and expect. I have learned, though, through all of this, is that test results are clear (either the lymph nodes have cancer or they don't, or either the margin was clean or it wasn't), but what comes next isn't always. And that drives me crazy. But that's how it is. Every other breast cancer patient or survivor I talked to has had similar experiences. Lots of tests and waiting and more tests and waiting. Even if a specific treatment or surgery was decided upon and scheduled, what would happen after may not be certain.
And I know that's partly due to my specific case. Had my cancer been invasive or advanced (G-d forbid) chemotherapy would have been given right away. But because it was small, early and non-invasive, the doctors wanted to take time to make the right decisions and take precautions to make sure they could get rid of the cancer while doing the least amount of damage- treatment or surgery I didn't need. Being 26 also comes into play. I believe doctors are more hesitant about doing certain things to a young person who's already had cancer before. Everything needs to be considered carefully, and I get that, but for a person who wants black and white answer now, it's hard.
If I look at the whole picture, I feel lucky and blessed from these results. I'm not done yet, but we just got good news, and things ARE moving along.
I think I'll be at a 10 when my treatment is officially over, my implant surgery is done and my recovery is complete, when I'm back to "normal" (regular physical activity, and no pain driving, opening doors or breathing), and have been cancer-free for many years. Or maybe I'll be at a 10 sooner than that. Or never. Only time will tell.
It took many, many years following my treatment for Leukemia for me to feel that it was gone and it wasn't coming back. Like many other cancer patients/survivors, I worry that the cancer isn't completely gone (though now I know it is), or that it will come back in the same or different place, either one month from now or ten years from now. It's normal to have these fears and I'm working on them and talking about them. It's also important to awknowledge that this anxiety is not going to go away overnight, and I've been through a lot emotionally these past few months which might make it easier to have second thoughts or doubts. It's hard to accept that that's all OK and it won't be like that forever. It sucks and it hurts that I'm going through this, but if I have to go through it, at least I'm doing so, with what I now believe, is flying colors.
Since my diagnosis life seems more magnified. Little things become big things. True, things like driving, sleeping comfortably and going to work take more effort. They're harder and more painful. They're more exhausting. But at the same time, fun things like spending time with friends (ladies nights and coffee dates are my favorite!) are more of an accomplishment. It's true that when you have something scary happen in life you appreciate life more. I think that statement is broad enough to be applied to really any situation or circumstance. But it's not just that: for me, even the little celebrations in life become much bigger not just because it takes effort on my part physically and mentally, but because I am actually proud of myself for having fun through all of this.
The wedding and planning turned from the wedding and planning into something bigger and more monumental: not just a celebration, but a CELEBRATION. When we look to the wedding 7 months from now we see this all behind us, and me a healthy person. We see an accomplishment. We see and will be celebrating a new love and relationship that Sean and I have formed. We've always loved and cared for each other, but now, having gone (and going through) this together, our commitment and future life together takes on more meaning. Our "in sickness and in health" came early. (it's a joke so you can laugh).
I don't think things in life will be magnified forever. I think they are now because what I'm going through is so big and each day takes a new form. I range from excited to scared to nervous to depressed millions of times a day, every day. Things just seem bigger. But I guess that's how it is when your life is temporarily turned upside down. I try, every day, to grasp what I can, do what I can, understand what I can, move forward when I can. But I also let myself feel sad. It's incredibly hard to find a balance and to actually put a description on what I feel day to day, since it changes so much, and literally millions of thoughts are going through my head at any given moment. And it makes me even more anxious to not have one single thought at once, but like a million. I feel very zig-zaggy at times. But it won't be that way forever. I'll eventually be able to see, and think, clearer.
It's a constant battle to keep moving, in any direction, really. I feel as though I'm on a treadmill where I'm walking really hard but not physically going any place. But today, for maybe the first time, the belt on the treadmill became a little looser and a little faster, and I believe I'll be moving on in a different way very soon.
So I guess it's not so bad if I'm at a 7 today. Just three months ago I was at a 1.
Yes.
ReplyDeleteMargie, you are my hero. Such a moving entry..xo
ReplyDelete