My Breast cancer journey
My husband told me often that I am just adding to my story. I told him that I am done adding to my story. I have been through enough. But, God had other plans for me....
*** Warning*** This is not a pity post but it is a true look into the mourning process of a cancer survivor. It is a compilation of my thoughts after reading books and hearing from friends who are fighting similar journeys. :) My doctor told me a few months ago that the months following treatments are extremely difficult when it comes to fear, anxiety, and emotions in general. I find that when I get alone and have time to think, that is when it begins to consume me. Most of the time my life runs at ninety to nothing and I don't have time to dwell on what is really going on in my body so I guess that is a good thing. This morning as I was soaking in a relaxing bath, I began thinking about the mourning process of a cancer survivor. Several months ago, a fellow friend, who is also going through a similar breast cancer journey, shared with me how she struggles with the mourning process of different elements of life before diagnosis, hair, health, body. Just as we mourn the loss of a loved one, we also mourn the loss of our identity. It is almost as if we have lost ourselves and don't know if we will ever regain or even see a glimpse of how we used to be. The identity that we have known for 40 plus years has been permanently disrupted and hacked to bits, literally. When I speak of identity, I don't only mean our personalities and who we are as a person, but also our physical selves. Yes, a cancer diagnosis changes who we are and how we grasp ahold of life, but it also opens up an unwanted chapter of loneliness, fear, anxiety, and a negative physical perception of ourselves that is extremely tough to conquer. I am not at the conquering part yet. I honestly think that it will take years for that to happen. When I was told that I had cancer, it rocked my world. Every thought imaginable came and went. One of the biggest struggles that I had to deal with was getting past the thought of losing my hair and the possibility of losing my breasts. My surgeon and my oncologist are huge proponents of conservative breast treatments IF the cancer is caught early, stage one and two, and IF there are no genetic mutations linked to the cancer. Mine was stage two, but I was told that if my genetic testing came back positive that I would have a complete mastectomy and possibly a hysterectomy. I did not want to lose either and struggled for quite a while with the thoughts of losing my identity as a woman as I waited for over a month for test results. The phone call finally came saying, "There were NO genetic mutations found...congratulations.... " I cried. I was very happy to hear the news. But, honestly, I have struggled quite often with knowing whether or not conservative therapy was right for me. I have asked LOTS of questions in order to get reassurance from my doctors and they have provided every statistic possible. But in the scope of things....part of my identity was taken from me from the very beginning. Number one being my good health. I can no longer say that I have no worries. I will never be able to. I always have to be on the lookout for new "lumps and bumps". And then, there are the scars. I had three surgeries, leaving three scars across my chest. There is an indentation and a few creases in my breast from the removal of so much tissue. Do I feel beautiful? No. I don't. I can't even begin to imagine losing my entire breast. I admire those who have had to take that route. And then there is my hair....another friend of mine was talking to me yesterday morning. She is also going through extensive chemotherapy for a different kind of cancer and was talking about how hers has turned white from the chemo, but she has not lost any of it. She was joking about being vain because she covers up the white with color. But again, it is not vanity. Different forms of treatment, different outcomes, but we are both mourning what we have lost in ourselves and are trying to grasp it back however possible. I had to gear myself up for the loss of my hair. My hair has always been something that has somewhat defined me as my crazy self. I have always been a sort of shy person, but loved playing around with different hairstyles and colors because it helped bring out that minuscule part of me that yearned to be wild and rebellious. I was devastated at the news that I was going to have to take chemotherapy and was sick to my stomach at the thought of going bald. Aside from my breasts, my hair was such an integral part of my identity as a woman. After my first treatment they told me that it would be around two weeks before my hair would start falling out. My worst nightmare was to find handfuls of hair on my pillow or dropping at my feet in the shower. Because of this, I had my sister-in-law cut my hair into a short pixie cut just about a week or so before I knew it would be coming out. This is when I finally let go... I pep talked myself into holding my head high and owning it. I knew that if I didn't own it, I wouldn't want to leave my house and I would be miserable. Almost to the day, my hair started shedding as I was getting ready for my second treatment. That evening my husband looked at me as I argued as to why I shouldn't shave
My point in all of this is not to whine and tell the world how bad that I have it, because, honestly, I consider myself quite blessed. I am here and alive. But, I want to gently try to explain that even though treatments are over, the journey is far from over. As a friend put it, we are expected to "FIght Like A Girl" as we are battling our way through pure exhaustion, nausea, burns from radiation, etc. We put on a smile to look strong and fist pump when we talk about being a fighter and overcoming the hard part, but inside, the struggle is very real. The fight has only just begun. Treatments are over. Now, we wait. We wait for two years, five years, ten years to pass with NO recurrence. We wait from this test to that test. And, we wait for our identity to come visit us again. Will it? Maybe to an extent, but will it really totally come to stay? Be an encourager. Be a prayer partner. Be understanding. Love...Love...Love.
6 Comments
Carole
12/26/2015 12:01:34 pm
Brave Jenny
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Jenny
12/26/2015 03:06:05 pm
Thank you Carole!
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Deborah Drake
12/27/2015 05:56:29 am
Beautifully written! Thank you for sharing!
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Jenny
12/27/2015 10:19:15 am
Thank you!
Brooke Daniel
12/27/2015 10:33:31 am
Very well said
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Jenny
12/27/2015 12:08:58 pm
Thank you! Happy New Years to you too. Thank you for being such a positive influence throughout my journey.
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