Tag: breast cancer

countdown to chemo

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I start chemo next Friday. Not looking forward to it. I’ll be getting an infusion of 3 drugs every week- Taxotere, Paraplatin, and Herceptin. This Tuesday I meet with the naturopath at the cancer clinic and then I will have my first echo cardiogram (don’t know the spelling of that one) to test the strength of my heart because of the effects of the Herceptin. The oncologist warned me that I will likely experience nerve damage due to the chemo which I may or may not recover from, but the common side effect is numbness and tingling in the fingers and toes (and my nails will be funky, too). Since that meeting, I’ve been less than enjoyable to be around (just ask Reen), but I’m also coming to terms with what the next several months may look like.

This week I’ve received beautiful knit hats from the knitting group at work, and I’ve been imagining the gorgeous fabrics that I could wear on my head. I know that part of this process will be about re-imaging how I can make this a journey of discovery. I will hopefully only have to go through this once in my life, and I want it to be a powerful representation of my strength and courage. The past week, I’ve felt less than courageous, and I’ve been resistant to what lies ahead. Although I have been told that I am “an inspiration”, I feel more like a fraud, and I want to change that. I want to inspire myself and to seek ways in which I can draw from this experience in order to empower my future. I want to explore the ways in which even the dreaded chemo regimen can create fullness in my life. Mostly, I want this journey to be one in which I prove to myself, more than anyone else, that I can be powerful, graceful, and fierce.

what not to say…

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I begin chemotherapy in just over a week, and I’m petrified. I’m scared about the toxic nature of the drugs, the medications I’ll have to take as a result, and the numerous side effects that I’ll likely experience. My strong conviction in holistic healthcare fights against the need to pump chemicals into my body in order to eradicate any possible cancer, and yet my fear of the unknown and the insistent suggestions of my Western medicine physicians point me toward this mode of treatment. The closer I get to the date of the port placement and my first chemo infusion, the more I resent this cancer and all that it means in my life….and yet I maintain an optimistic view that this is one of the most life-altering and profound things that could have happened to me; I am in control of how I make meaning out of this (many thanks to my studies in existential psychology).

Despite the strong face I’ve had pre and post surgery, I am ashamed to be as obsessed as I am about the vain fear of losing my hair. The reality is that I will likely be bald within the next month, and my hair will not have a chance to grow back for several months. I adore the fact that people believe that I will be “beautiful bald”, but I honestly do not believe that I will be capable of controlling my resentment and irritation if one more person suggests that “it will grow back”. My hair will be gone for a good season, if not two, and I will not have the option to “grow it back” right away. I will have the option to bare my head (which I don’t know if I have the boldness to do), wear a wig (which is very rarely not obvious), or to wear beanies, hats and scarves. I will choose the final option, but I doubt that I will come to terms with it. Please, please, please- if I whine about my impending baldness, just assure me that it sucks or don’t say anything at all. I’m not looking for compliments or reassurance of my ability to grow hair sans chemo. I’m just complaining about the fact that I will have side effects and that I can’t control this aspect of the cancer journey.

pathology and belonging

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The pathology report….drum roll, please….all clear. All 9 nodes negative. After leaving 3 messages for the surgeon this week, she finally called to read the report that was sitting in her inbox since Monday. Frustrating, to say the least, but also a great relief. The size and nature of the tumor (HER2, ER/PR positive) make this cancer more aggressive, but because it’s not in the lymph nodes, it’s treatable.

With the actual tumor gone, I’m not quite sure how to describe my situation, especially given my difficulty with holding the idea of dis-ease in my body. I continue to recognize that I am not this cancer; that this experience is my journey and that the scars across my chest are my own reminder of where I’ve been. But does that mean I can now join the ranks of those women who carry the bold title of “survivor”, or do I have to wait until my head is free of my wiry hair and I have had chemicals pumped into my bloodstream? I feel lost in this period between surgery and chemo which feels like an in-between place in which I am empty of belonging, and free to pretend that I am merely healing from surgery. I suppose it helps that I feel fierce and fabulous, and that my flexibility is returning in recognizable daily ways. It also helps that I continue to receive strong embraces from people unafraid to hold my new frame and calls and emails as reminders that I am not alone as I traverse a new, foreign terrain.

seasonal reflection

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I returned to work yesterday on the morn of the Autumn Equinox. The seasonal shift had me thinking of all of the change that has happened since the beginning of summer when I initially found the lump in my breast. On my first day of summer classes, I was told that the lump was malignant, and that it was an aggressive form of breast cancer. I couldn’t have felt more put out- “I don’t have time for this”, I thought (and said out loud, many times). But I was energized to do research while I worked and went to school. The sun and warmth of the seasons helped me to stay focused and to soak in the beauty of the nature around me. As summer ended, I prepared for surgery, had surgery, and I continue to feel strong in my recovery. Now with fall and the rain and darkness that I know lay ahead in these coming months, I’m trying to prepare for chemo. Like many trees and plants, I will be losing more of myself as my body reacts to the drugs- my hair will most likely fall out, my skin will become dry, and I will become tired. Autumn and winter will be a reminder that I need to rest and to prepare for the new growth of spring. As long as I remember the beauty of cycles and of the need for deep sleep in order to set my roots deeper into the earth, I know that I will not only get through this, but I will be stronger and more beautiful for it.

Yesterday I returned to work, and although there are some painful and sad changes happening, it feels good to be there. This may be partially due to the fact that my desk looks like a wildflower garden with all of the bouquets I’ve been graced with, but also due to the loving embraces and kind words and thoughts of my co-workers. I am blessed, and I take none of this for granted. And still, I await the official pathology report…

from the ashes…

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Jane stopped by yesterday and brought this beautiful piece that she wove from the under wire that she found in ashes from our fire ritual (for those who weren’t there, I’m talking about the fabulous burning of the bras). It’s a nest that represents the resilience and the potential beauty that comes from this experience, but I also see it as representing the strength of friends who join together to form a container or a net in which anyone can choose to fall and be held. Maybe that’s what I see, because I feel very held right now. Thank you for the reminder, Jane!

As for me- I now have some funky little camis (well, technically, they’re sleep shirts…but they’re in bright colors, they look pretty, and they’re 100% cotton- lycra is not my friend), I’m getting lots of good rest, and I can put my arms nearly straight above my head! Still no news regarding the path report, however. As soon as I know anything, I will happily post away. Until then, I’m off for yet another afternoon nap under my freshly washed quilt. Ahhhhhh, the life of luxury.

xoxoxo W