stage IV breast cancer
Grief and the breast cancer diagnosis
I am starting to hit acceptance with all of this. It has been a few months of struggling to accept my path and each emotion along the way has corresponded pretty closely to the stages of grief. (I touch on that a bit in this post)
This diagnosis has felt like such a loss. Loss of how I saw my life – I had imagined having kids or even having forever to figure out what I wanted to do. Loss of parts of my body – my breasts for one and several lymph nodes. But I think there was also a profound loss of self in all of this.
I was on a path, figuring out the things that made me feel connected to myself and the rest of the world. I had forged an amazing relationship to exercise and found ways to stay grounded, both physically and spiritually. I ate well, always gravitated towards self improvement and saw myself as exceptionally healthy. And then in an instant, all of that got taken away.
I could no longer work out because the bone mets hurt almost immediately. Every waking moment was spent focusing on next steps. And I wasn’t the picture of health I had envisioned. There I was: derailed, knocked off course and the tools once used to stabilize my mood or get in touch with myself were no longer available.
I still experience the emotional palette related to grief. Some days are worse than others. But I am grateful to also be experiencing acceptance and hope alongside all of that. I think this hope is coming, in part, from feeling like I have something to say about all of this. And with that, a striving for meaning, in my diagnosis, in life has begun to form.
Honest statement of the day
Molested by cancer
Many people who have had childhood sexual-based trauma, know the conflicting set of emotions that go along with being molested: Shame and a sense that you are special. Obviously this is something I’ve dealt with and I often wonder if some of my cancer roots lie in that past history. I touched on my walling off my breasts from the rest of me here, which could very well have been a result of sexual abuse as a kid.
There may be links between sexual abuse and breast cancer but that’s not the reason for this post. What has been rolling through my head though is that those very specific pair of emotions have cropped up again. I have a sense of shame over getting sick early on in life. As if somehow it indicates a terrible weakness, physically, spiritually. There is also that sense that I am special. That I am going through something few people go through. I am special because this genetic predator chose me. And then feeling special makes me feel ashamed all over again.
Cancer feels like a terrible violation. The body you trust to house you for this lifetime all of a sudden is doing things against your wellbeing. Of course cancer is dissimilar to the sexual predator in that it does not feel good. There is no confusion as far as that goes and no part of me that enjoys the bone aches or nausea or host of other symptoms.
I wonder if other people have these feelings or if these emotions are just in storage because of my past history. Easy feelings to pull off the shelf when something big and scary comes along. What I do know is that it makes me a victim all over again. And I don’t want to navigate this as a victim. Sure, cancer is unfair. Nobody deserves it. But being a victim and concentrating on that role seems to separate me from the life force I am meant to experience. Being a victim thwarts any attempt at creation. So today I choose to create and am willing to step out of my role as a victim and take responsibility for whatever life I have left.
Honest statement of the day
Sometimes I don’t want to be girlfriends…or do I?
A funny thing happened on the way to stage IV. Back in 2011, when I was dealing with a fairly contained case of the breast cancer (minus, of course, infected lymph nodes and a larger than comfortable mass), I faced that challenge as if it were a limited period of time, after which cancer would be in my rear view mirror…permanently.
The Universe had other plans though and now I am chronic. I won’t say terminal although I think about it that way sometimes (Probably best to shift that mindset eventually).
When everything started, I resisted support groups – actually I went to a couple and never went back. I turned away opportunities to talk about what was going on…when I was bald, a woman came up to me at a Starbucks, and asked about treatment. Granted it was not the most appropriate way to approach a stranger but, looking back, she was probably trying to forge sisterhood with someone who understood.
In those days, talking about cancer with people who had cancer was not uplifting. Every time I connected with someone who was going through something similar, it felt like I was connecting with the disease. And, my God, I wanted to be normal.
Now I feel less normal or, at least, like I have to shift my concept of normal. I used to forget I had cancer for long stretches of time and now it’s most of what I think about. My guess is I’m still in shock. It’s been 6 months since I found out about the recurrence and I’ve been surfing the waves of grief for all that time, hitting everything from denial, anger, bargaining, depression…so now I’m ready for a little acceptance. The hope is that writing this blog will assist in that shift.
EverythingLeadsToThis already symbolizes a significant change from the first time around…I’m writing about cancer and my experience. I’m talking about this thing I didn’t want to talk about, which means I am now open to finding a sense of community. In fact, it’s something I’d like to find. And as much as I don’t want to want that, there it is.
Honest statement of the day
Finding my voice
I went to a conference today and had to leave after an hour of trying to stay cheerful and upright. It was nice to be around people but the hot flashes, combined with the post surgery pain and whatever aches I feel from my medication was enough to make me call it early. I also have a vocal cord issue because of everything which makes it hard to speak. Which, after all is said and done, is the real reason it’s hard to be in group of people.
The lost voice – which is from cancer growth pushing up against the nerve that enervates the voice box – is probably the hardest thing to deal with. It’s been horse to completely gone for over 5 months. And it’s something I can’t hide. It’s also something I have to wait to address.
What makes it so difficult to bear is that it’s almost a metaphor for a lifelong struggle: finding my voice. This voice I’ve been looking for in my writing, in my career, my relationship. I talked about my issues with following my bliss here. So for that reason it’s been tough to be consistent enough to hone in on a creative voice. In my primary relationship I find it hard to speak up for myself sometimes (although in other relationships I don’t seem to have that problem).
The purpose of this blog is to spill. To say things that are stuck in my head. It’s as weird to think that people will read my thoughts as it is to think that no one will read them. Finding a voice is great but if no one is listening then it’s like that tree that falls alone in the forest. Which, again, is a big reason I left the conference yesterday. Because, even in a forest filled with trees, I felt like the one tree that made no noise as the wind circled my leaves. And I don’t want to be a lonely tree.
Honest statement of the day
Irresponsible dummies
I try not to focus on the past. Letting go of the doctors that misdiagnosed me – and there were a few – has been an important part of healing for me. From the OBGYN in 2005 who said I was too young to have Cancer to the Thermographer in 2011 who said that, based on her heat sensing test, my growth was benign. And that was about a week before I found a lump under my arm that turned out to be lymph node involvement.
Obviously I still harbor some resentment. It’s tough to feel let down by people you trust to look out for your best interest. When I reflect on my journey to this point, I ask myself why no one ever recommended a mammogram. Why would getting more information have been a bad thing? I already addressed in this earlier post that I was afraid of Western medicine and found people to support that fear. So some of the blame falls squarely on my shoulders.
But I’d like to move on from blame, towards doctors and towards myself. Constantly looking in the rear view mirror will only make me crash the car I’m trying to drive forward. Also anger and blame seem to generate more anger and blame rather than run its course. And I have enough new anger to not have to deal with the old stuff.
So I’m using this post as a package to the Universe. A way to hand over ill feelings to those that failed me and to myself. And as for the title of this post, it’s my way of staying true to the imperfection that makes me human.
everythingleadstothis 