So here we are, the day everyone is waiting for, GONG! Ringing the famous Cancer bell in celebration. A year ago I would have jumped up and down, living with the naïve and ignorant view that once that "ding, dong" happened everything was looking up, and you were in the clear. But as I write this today I want to share with you how I really feel, and how I will never feel the same about hearing that gong again.
So in super quick recap, I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer and quickly underwent 8 rounds of double dose intensive chemotherapy over 16 weeks. I remember the last day of treatment well, folks cheering and celebrating, and asking me if I was going to ring the bell. The bell if you read it is to celebrate milestones... milestones... not the end, but even so it felt too new, too early, and I didn't feel well enough. There was so much yet to go, and if I am super honest, I didn't want to jinx myself. I know, it's so silly! Ringing a bell wasn't going to change the outcome for better or for worse, but if there is one thing I need you to grant me it's the occasional irrational thought!
So chemotherapy comes and goes, and then we are quickly heading into surgery. I had 6 weeks to recover, recharge, embrace life, do some things, and emotionally prepare to have both breasts and right lymph nodes removed. May I tell you that there is no preparation plan, and no instruction book. Some days you think the worst, some days the perfect optimist, but at best, you can be physically prepared with pillows, chairs and a raised toilet seat!
For me having no plan was the best plan, because plans change as I share in detail in De ja Vu. My emergency, follow up surgery put things behind schedule, but it was a success!!! All of this didn't take place in the Cancer Centre, so weirdly it had a different feeling, and no gong in sight. Stepping into the Hospital at Cambridge, or Dr. Sawa's gorgeous clinic had a different vibe. A weird, non-cancery vibe, almost lulled into a false sense of "it's over". As much as I knew I had radiation to come, enough time had passed that I was living everyday with relatively little pain and renewed energy. There were days I felt guilty, I shared this in previous blogs, because I almost felt "normal".
Normal is like so many things a term of relativity. There are days it feels like yesterday I was in my office at work thinking about the up and coming Holiday Party season. I was planning Dancing with the Stars to raise money for Easter Seals, and the Big 40 was just around the corner. My biggest concern was having Covid- and missing Spooky Stables! In hindsight what I would give to have just been away for a few days giving "advice" via facetime. At the time the team indulged me, I know my team didn't need me and I'll be forever grateful that they just let me feel involved.
Fast forward and here we are, its not days, weeks, it's months- 10 months already- and almost 12 months since I was stood in the hallway thinking my chest pain was weird. That's right, and I will never stop telling the story, my first indication that something was wrong was pain in both breasts. Bah, 40 sucks, it must be hormonal, there is no way it could ever by something like Cancer. Folks, listen to your body, make the call, don't apologize that you are overthinking something, because that was me, and I had 14 cms of aggressive cancer hiding in plain sight.
The pie pumpkin is the size of the tumour!
Maybe that is part of my problem as I reflect on todays feelings. I didn't know it was there, so how do I know it is gone? I yearn for someone with lots of letters after their name to tell me I am Cancer free. No one will do that. Why does it matter? Why do I care that I speak of myself as a person with cancer, or a person who had cancer? Why do I hate that tomorrow I'm not going for radiation? Why do I remind everyone, myself, that I am back to the hospital next week for my first bisphosphate infusion in the chemosuite, blood work, and new "cancer prevention drugs" the week after that? Because seeing that incredible group of people everyday made me feel safe. It made me feel like nothing could go wrong. It made me feel like the Cancer couldn't come back, because it wouldn't dare cross that kick ass team blowing it up with "Marvel" Movie like radiation machines.
And now I am by myself. I did a really crappy job of knowing something was wrong the first time... how can I be better this time...
You teeter-totter between: you got this, and being an all out hypochondriac. To give the team all the credit in the world, they listen, diligently. Just over a week ago I have the mother of all head aches. I am a very lucky person. I don't suffer with regular headaches, but have watched my brother Tomas, dad, and gran suffer with migraines their whole lives. I mean this one was a doozy... I was Corey Heart, wearing my sunglasses at night, because I couldn't stand the light. I wore a toque because it felt like I needed something to hold my head, and I also called mom to drive me. Yes, that is correct, I asked for help!!! I slept all the way to the hospital.
As soon as my treatment was done the nurse whisked me away, spoke to the doctor, and in less that a week I was having a CT scan. I KNOW I didn't need a CT scan, I KNOW it was probably the result of stress, pressure, emotion, pain, but I also became aware that the headache had been there and lingering and I was ignoring it. Unfortunately it is still here and lingering today. The CT scan was clear, of course it was, and I felt guilty to tie up resources and the cost of a scan to the hospital. The nurse smiled at me and gently reminded me it was ok, I needed it, I was worth it, and that the peace of mind for everyone was a result in itself.
That's what I mean when I say safe, supported. But who am I kidding, they are only a call away, and given the drug regime I begin next week I will continue to see them frequently. So is that really it? Maybe it is, or maybe it is also the fact that I want Cancer to be over and ringing the bell is like telling the world it is over, when it's not. A solid 2-3 years of drugs helping to prevent it's return to my bones, and 5-10 controlling estrogen. Six months from now surgery to rebuild my chest to outwardly resemble what was once there before, with a 6-8 week recovery time. And not to mention the raw, painful skin across the right side of my chest.
I had a friend share with me that while she had Cancer she didn't want anyone to know, and then once she returned to her "normal life"(back to work but still taking drugs) she wanted to scream at the world that she was still fighting. I think that's it. Like grief, people move on and expect you to move on. But I am still living it, still processing it, and in many ways it is actually harder than ever because I am heading into a place with no defined plan that has cause and effect, and with no defined answers. For a person who can't count the number of times she has professionally reminded folks that life often isn't black and white, but a thousand shades of grey, today I want black and white!
So I did it. I donged the gong. Why? Because in this crazy journey I can't forget that I should celebrate how far I have come. How far WE have come, because I sure haven't done it alone. At the beginning of the journey I imagined balloons and seas of pink, people cheering, and massive celebrations. But instead, I quietly gonged. I was joined by Joel, someone who behind the scenes has supported me in ways I will never be able to explain... there today for her own appointments, and Bill, one of the most fun volunteers who reminded me, with a Santa like twinkle in his eye, "I want you to hit that thing because I don't want you back tomorrow!" Sorry Bill, I'll see you next week. But today we are all quietly cheering that I made it this far, and I will continue to make gong worthy progress everyday until that person with a PHD says, "Katie you're officially Cancer free!"
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