That's it. I'm done. Last week, my oncologist offhandedly said, "We now consider you to be healthy and cured."
He and I were talking about the level of follow-up and screening I would now have, and he wanted to put my situation in context. So he told me that from a medical standpoint, I was not that different from other women my age. Thus, he used the phrase "healthy and cured."
Whether or not he intended it, I latched onto those three little words, and I've been basking in their undeniable brightness ever since. Good health takes on such a greater significance when it disappears for a time. When it's been regained, simple healthfulness is valued as a far more precious commodity than it was before it ebbed. As Joni Mitchell wryly observed, "Don't it always seem to go. You don't know what you got till it's gone."
While Joni was mostly referring to the environment, her words provide an excellent segue for me to the next chapter (or the next blog, if you will). Simply put, the goal is to appreciate what's around me in a literal sense, and learn how I can make more out it. Healthy body, healthy planet -- it's all so intertwined.
The internet headlines today were about a 36-year-old TV actress, Christina Applegate, who recently underwent a double mastectomy. She was diagnosed with cancer, but she opted for extra surgery because she learned that she carried the breast cancer gene. I began this blog many months ago with my own breast cancer diagnosis. As I come to the conclusion of my treatment, each week thousands of new cases are being detected. Well-known and unknown, wealthy and destitute, educated and unschooled, women of all races, faiths, and backgrounds are being told that they have breast cancer. Maybe a means of prevention is close at hand. Maybe we'll soon have better detection in order to save more lives. Keep checking here periodically, and I'll keep posting breast cancer information as I find it.
In this fight, we need to raise funds, raise awareness, raise our voices. To win this battle, we need to help each other. To be healthy. To be cured.
8/19/08
8/8/08
New Blog is Up
Although it's still in its infancy, the new blog is operational. The link is: http://eatingmygarden.blogspot.com
Meanwhile, the on-going story published here is not quite finished. I still have to see the medical oncologist next week and get my marching orders, but I am transitioning. Thanks for reading during these long months. Knowing that you've been following along has made the writing enormously fulfilling and a true pleasure.
Meanwhile, the on-going story published here is not quite finished. I still have to see the medical oncologist next week and get my marching orders, but I am transitioning. Thanks for reading during these long months. Knowing that you've been following along has made the writing enormously fulfilling and a true pleasure.
8/3/08
Cap And Gown
Bring on the pomp. The circumstances call for it. Time to trade the hospital gown for a graduation gown. Let's switch out the bandanna for a mortarboard. It's graduation time. I'm done with surgery. Done with chemo. Done with radiation. I've attended my last session and passed my final doctor's exam.
I've crossed the stage, graduating from cancer patient to cancer survivor. Of course, that's not exactly how the moment feels. A better description is that I am a survivor of cancer treatment. The cancer itself, that cunning and stealthful enemy, never caused a hint of noticeable trouble. It was quietly invading, flying under radar, undetected by x-ray.
We always ask graduates about their plans. More education? New career? Answer is who knows. I have a writing project lined up, but no real plans are on the table. The radiation technicians advised me to keep busy and guard against depression. Although I'm rarely depressed, I'll heed the warning anyway. The nurse also said that I might experience an increased level of fatigue over the next week or two. After the last treatment, she explained that some radiation patients feel as if they've been hit by a bus. So, I'll watch out for that possibility, as well.
Right now, I'm just enjoying the knowledge that I no longer need to drive to the hospital every day, disrobe, lie under a huge machine for few minutes, get dressed again, and drive home. That routine was getting monotonous. I'm also trying to take in the information that I've reached the end of a 10-month trek. That my all-consuming detour through the land of breast cancer treatment is at its conclusion. For the moment, I'm paused at the main road. A little time, please, before I make the turn.
I've crossed the stage, graduating from cancer patient to cancer survivor. Of course, that's not exactly how the moment feels. A better description is that I am a survivor of cancer treatment. The cancer itself, that cunning and stealthful enemy, never caused a hint of noticeable trouble. It was quietly invading, flying under radar, undetected by x-ray.
We always ask graduates about their plans. More education? New career? Answer is who knows. I have a writing project lined up, but no real plans are on the table. The radiation technicians advised me to keep busy and guard against depression. Although I'm rarely depressed, I'll heed the warning anyway. The nurse also said that I might experience an increased level of fatigue over the next week or two. After the last treatment, she explained that some radiation patients feel as if they've been hit by a bus. So, I'll watch out for that possibility, as well.
Right now, I'm just enjoying the knowledge that I no longer need to drive to the hospital every day, disrobe, lie under a huge machine for few minutes, get dressed again, and drive home. That routine was getting monotonous. I'm also trying to take in the information that I've reached the end of a 10-month trek. That my all-consuming detour through the land of breast cancer treatment is at its conclusion. For the moment, I'm paused at the main road. A little time, please, before I make the turn.
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