A Good Day Is When I Don't Think About Cancer

Bouncing back to real life is hard but doable.

I woke up yesterday and was kissed by my husband and my lanky dog did his morning dance beside my side of the bed.

The sun was shining and I got up and poured a hot cup of coffee in my favorite chicken mug. I did some writing while listening to classical music; met my niece for an eggs benedict breakfast and later I sat outside in our garden and fed the birds.

My friend and I had a nice chat on the phone. I did some volunteering with a little girl I adore. I went for a walk with my dog and even found some wild mushrooms which I find particularly beautiful.

I had lemon pasta for dinner and a glass of pinot grigio. My husband and I watched Netflix and he fell asleep holding my hand.

It was a good ordinary day.

It was a good day because I didn’t think about cancer coming back.

My 50th birthday ranks as the worst birthday of my life.

My aunt who was more like my older sister — had been diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer a few weeks before my birthday.

My husband wanted to throw me a party but I wasn’t up for it. It seemed like a weird time to have a celebration with chocolate cake and champagne when someone so close to me was suffering.

A few weeks later I flew to London, England for business. One of my clients and I met at the Tate Modern Museum as she wanted to show me the sculpture that had just won a massive prize.

We laughed at the giant ass sculpture and she took a picture of me directly underneath it. We couldn’t believe that someone would have made so much money from such a horrid piece of art.

I never would have thought that the picture would turn out to be prophetic.

The Universe dumped a diagnosis of breast cancer on me just a few weeks after I got home.

Strange things happen when your world blows up.

The diagnosis of cancer is an atomic bomb to your life. There are little chunks of you blown everywhere and you wish someone would gather the pieces up and put them in a basket. At least you’d have a starting point.

However, cancer in all of its dark destruction doesn’t work that way.

I was faced with life or death decisions that had to be done quickly. One mastectomy was what the doctors advised. I fought for bi-lateral mastectomies as I didn’t want cancer to come back to the other breast.

I couldn’t even begin to think about the other areas it might be setting up camp.

So I did it all.

Does it take time to bounce back from cancer and cancer treatment?

Hell, yes. A lot longer than you’d probably think.

Here’s the lowdown. (The shortened version.)

I had both of my breasts removed and I didn’t go for reconstruction. Contrary to popular belief — reconstruction after breast cancer isn’t a simple Kardashian boob job. It involves the harvesting of skin, fat, and muscles from other parts of your body.

I didn’t want to feel like Frankenstein any more than I already did.

The physical pain was brutal but the emotional pain pre and post-surgery brought me to my knees many times. But once the cancer treatment elephant is moving — you don’t stop it.

Five weeks after surgery I started chemo treatments in early January 2017. Happy New Year! I had chemo treatment every three weeks for a total of six treatments. I also suffered over forty side effects of it. Becoming bald was just one of them.

Chemo ended and I had three weeks to gather my strength for a month of daily radiation treatments. Within a week I was branded with a charred continent of Africa on my chest. At least, that’s what I thought it looked like. My husband said it was more like Australia.

I didn’t sleep for a year. I spent a year in physio after that.

People don’t know that the treatments they give you to save your life actually can cause lifelong damage. It’s the price you pay to live.

What people also don’t realize is that you’re still dealing with the rest of life while you’re going through treatment. You’re still dealing with relationships; your finances/job; who is taking the dog to the vet and who will send your mom her birthday gift. I look back and I don’t know how I did it.

Was it worth it? Of course.

Is life getting better? Absolutely.

Do I still have nightmares? Yes.

Here I am. Hallelujah!

I no longer get my hair in the mail. (I called it Hair Mail.)

My hair has grown back as curly and wild as before.

My 30-inches of scars have healed. I can put my shoes on by myself. I’m slowly getting used to living life without breasts.

I was slammed with instant menopause from chemo so I get to deal with the joys of that. But I can taste food again and I didn’t spend 120 days in bed last year.

And I am three years cancer-free. My lovely aunt was not so lucky. She died last year. Writing those words are some of the hardest I’ve ever had to type.

I am so grateful to be alive.

But I don’t need to be reminded of that by anyone.

As if.

I’m the one who spent over a year fighting for my life. I’m the one who lives with the daily reminders each time I look in the mirror.

After I was done a year of treatment — it felt like many people in my life said,

“Whew! She made it through. She’s good now.”

They treated me like I had just fallen off my bike. Just get back on and keep pedaling.

Most people didn’t want to hear that I was still struggling with other physical and emotional issues. I know it was probably too much for them to handle. I wasn’t alone. Depression is something most cancer patients will go through after treatment. In fact, 1 in 4 cancer patients struggles with PTSD and depression.

Thankfully, I worked my way through it with some close friends, a good therapist and a lot of writing. The trees and birds helped too.

So, now it is three years later. I am one of the lucky ones. I used to think I was a compassionate person. That has changed. The compassion I feel for those who have suffered in the past, or who suffer now or who will suffer in the future has grown by a thousand-fold.

Why did I feel compelled to write this story? Because there’s probably someone in your life who is going through the hardship of cancer or another health crisis.

Be someone who still connects with them after the rush of health appointments, flowers and cards stop. Try to be one of the people in their life who helps them have a good ordinary day.

Help them bounce back.

As for me? This morning I’m headed outside with the coffee my sweet husband made. I’ll read my book in the sunshine with my lovely, lanky dog at my feet. I love watching the birds greet the day.

They appreciate a good ordinary day too.