My "new normal"

I continue to work at recovering from cancer treatment and am making progress.

My physical therapist determined that my lymphedema has improved enough that I can limit the wearing of my compression sleeve and glove to the times when I am exercising and/or doing something that has me using that arm a lot. This was very good news, as I really dislike being encased in those ugly elastic garments.

Exercise remains an important component of my recovery, and I am working out regularly. Because the elliptical machines in my building's fitness center have TVs, I get to see a lot of old episodes of "Law and Order" and "NCIS."

I've lost 22 pounds, thanks to eliminating simple carbs and avoiding sugar and processed foods. I donated a lot of too-large clothes to a thrift store last week, and that felt good.

I have my anger under better control now and I feel less depressed. 

I still have some neuropathy in my hands and feet and some periods of low energy. 

My next medical appointment is with my oncologist next month. In the meantime, I'm having some dental work done. 

My "new normal" involves a lot more maintenance and vigilance, but I am adjusting to the reality of how cancer, as well as aging, has changed my life.

Breast Cancer Awareness Month

I see that October is “Breast Cancer Awareness Month.”

Here are some things I have become aware of:

Cancer invaded not only my body but every other area of my life – my relationships, my finances, my work—both paid and volunteer—my mental health, where I could go, and what I could do.

Maintaining a positive attitude just wasn’t a sustainable coping mechanism. There was simply no way to feel positive about what was happening to me. Often, the best I could do was “Just let me get through this biopsy/MRI/blood test/chemo/surgery/radiation/fever/nausea/hair loss/pain without screaming.”

Cancer is an illness, not a military campaign, yet the language of cancer treament continues to be fraught with words like “battle” and “fight.” Cancer treatment, however, meant passively enduring invasive, painful, and frightening procedures with uncertain outcomes. There was very little “fighting” involved.  If any military analogy fit, it was more like being a prisoner of war. (And I especially hate it when I read in an obituary that someone “lost her battle with cancer.” It implies that somehow her death was her own fault—that she did not try hard enough to “win.”)

Cancer doesn’t end when treatment does. I expected that when I was done with that last day of treatment, I would want to celebrate. Instead, I found myself feeling depressed and angry. After a year of constant “just let me get through this,” I am not restored to health. I am left with surgical scars, radiation burns, a lopsided chest, lymphedma, neuropathy, nerve pain, hot flashes, and low energy. In addition, I have a sword of Damocles hanging over my head. The cancer could come back, and every six months I will be seeing my oncologist to see if it has. And every day I will be taking estrogen-supressing medication.

I have a whole new reality now and adjusting to it is going to take a while. Dealing  with aging was hard enough, but this is a real game-changer. Life is uncertain, and cancer has certainly heightened my awareness of that uncertainty.