Saying it's OK

I love my guys!

With nearly 200 posts since starting Pink and Pearls in summer 2011, I have many favorites, so I started to go through some of them to gather a list. (You can see the work in progress on the “Best of Pink and Pearls” page up top.)

Every now and then I scan through some of my older posts to read what it was like when I had my expanders in or when I was waiting for test results or couldn’t move after surgery. Not that I forget what it was like; I mean, it was not even three years ago. I remember quite clearly, but my life has moved forward so much since then sometimes it almost seems like ages ago. Or maybe I try not to remember. However, sometimes the remembering helps me be stronger today. Knowing what I went through and how incredibly painful it was (in every way) and then looking at my life today and what I’ve accomplished (six surgeries, marriage, honeymoon, new dog, new house, Tour de Pink, 9 5Ks, etc.) give me some perspective. So much has happened since I started this blog. I’ve overcome so much. Pink and Pearls started as my “planning wedding while coping with breast cancer” blog, and now it has not only morphed into a blog about “life after breast cancer,” but my next steps in life, which revolve around my Li Fraumeni Syndrome and our adoption.

Even though the breast cancer is over, there will always be challenges that go back to the breast cancer. But starting the adoption process tells me we are moving forward, and yes, while there are new challenges, these are moving-forward challenges. Yes, new challenges arise from having LFS and starting clinic next month, but these are also moving-forward challenges. These new challenges and adventures, if you will, are our next steps in life.

Nearly two years ago I found out about the LFS, and next month I’m starting my screenings to help manage the LFS. When I started Pink and Pearls I was engaged. Today I am married, and not only did we have the most phenomenal wedding, we had the most phenomenal honeymoon and we built the most beautiful house. And not only all that, but we’re starting a family. Starting to start a family. Starting to start. Even if we were to have a child the “conventional” way, we would still be starting to start. But we’re not; we’re adopting. And we’re starting to start having a family. Lots of starts. Lots of new things.

The breast cancer and LFS is still very much a part of my daily life and daily thinking. And why shouldn’t it be? Because of the LFS I quite obviously live my life in a certain way. I see a million doctors all the time. I’m only 28 and have already had my first colonoscopy. And next month I’m getting my brain and entire body scanned for cancer. I get my blood checked every four months. And every lump or bump is drop-dead-serious, get-in-to-see-the-doctor-tomorrow. A persistent tummy problem is an abdominal ultrasound. This is quite clearly the LFS way of living. No doubt. And of course, all the organic and the raw and the green and the clean, from food to toothpaste, and from stainless steel water bottles to the No Poo Method. (No Poo is saying “no” to shampoo and instead washing your hair with apple cider vinegar and water). I’m not perfect: I still drink wine and eat cookies and wear makeup that isn’t 100 percent natural. Trust me, do I eat cookies. But if it weren’t for the LFS would I be as organic and clean-driven as I am now? Maybe. Maybe not.

If it weren’t for the breast cancer and the LFS would I have done Tour de Pink? No. If it weren’t for the LFS would I have made running such a priority, and set goals for myself to complete a 5K, 10K, 10-miler and then half marathon? Would I run 10-14 miles a week? Probably not. I run to stay fit and to keep my body strong, both to protect against cancer and be prepared if I get cancer again. After my first mastectomy my doctors told me I healed so fast because I was in such good shape. And after both sides were done again (expanders exchanged for implants) and I couldn’t use either of my arms to get out of bed, I used solely my abdominal muscles to lift my body up. I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forget what the doctors told me. I’ll never let myself get weak. I hope it doesn’t happen again, but if it does I want to have my armor on.

Anyway, it’s quite clear I live my life a certain way because of my previous cancers and because of the LFS, so it’s only natural I’d think about it all the time. It’s almost like everything I do, I’m doing because of the LFS. Not in a bad way; rather in a yolo-way. (Yes, I said yolo. Deal with it.)

Having two cancers and LFS has forced me to live fully and without reserve. While I am not without my stresses, I am consciously and constantly trying to reduce them, and also focus on what lifts me up. Because when I encounter a negative person I ignore him or her. When I encounter a negative situation I leave it. When I come across a negative feeling that is my own, I work to resolve it.

If something upsets me and it’s out of my control, I count to 3 and let it go. If it’s in my control I find a way to improve. I tell myself I’ll do better next time if I can. And if I can’t, I tell myself to move on.

Because life is too short. This I’ve learned and this is how I live. And I love it.

It’s not just my way of coping, it’s my way of thriving. And since the breast cancer and the LFS I have made it my mission to (sorry for the cliché) not just survive, but thrive. And I have and I will continue to. That’s my mission for myself and my life. Live. Thrive. Eat it up.

Reading past posts on Pink and Pearls is a norm for me, as I’ve always, since as long as I can remember, found great joy in reading old poems, stories and diary entries, looking at old photos and reminiscing about old times with friends and family. I’m lucky in that each day new memories are made, but part of my life and part of living and growing is remembering where I came from and remembering both the good and bad that made me who I am today.

It’s OK to not be too far away from the breast cancer. But it’s also OK to not remember the expander pain in too much detail. There’s always been a part of me that believes I have to keep the pain close or else it will come back. If I become too removed from the breast cancer I am not protected against it. If I forget what it put me through there is no chain fence keeping it from coming back.

But that’s not true. We know this. Those thoughts are coping mechanisms.

It’s OK for me to read about the physical pain and the mental agony of two years ago and remember and maybe even cry. But it’s also OK to let myself move further from it each day. Just because I’m moving further from it doesn’t mean it will come back.

I’m not keeping myself safe by keeping the pain close. And that is such a hard thing to learn about myself.