My emotions are all over the map and my monkey mind is in overdrive! Now to keep people from knowing on the outside so I can deal with it alone when I get home. It's what I do.
A person said to me, with kindness and thinking they were being supportive and helpful..."Since you won't be doing chemo and don't have the bad stuff you were worried about, must be a relief to know you don't have to keep up the blog now."
Maybe no HER2 positive, but HER2 still lurks with 1+ status. Invasive Lobular Carcinoma is the 10-15% least common breast cancer and one they are still learning more about as more cases come up. The cancer threat hasn't left, treatments are looming, and then the pills for five years. That seems like no big deal to some people, but there are possible side effects I am not looking forward to. As for the pills, I also have to remember to take them daily when I've never done that with anything in my life! Foxy isn't too good about giving me reminders either.
The emotional roller coaster rides keep happening, the darn estrogen is still running rampant in my body, and I can't forget what I am dealing with no matter how hard I try!
Aromatase inhibitors haven't been around as long as Tamoxifen and though I believe I won't have a problem, some people can't tolerate some of them. I still have that bridge to cross in about six weeks.
"No chemo equals no problems." Hmmm, why can't I wrap my head around that concept easily? My monkey mind latches on to such ridiculous statements and torments me with them.
Maybe I AM overreacting. It IS just radiation and then it IS just a pill. How can I compare myself to those struggling with much more serious cases? People who have lengthy sessions of chemo, larger tumors, reoccurance in other parts of their bodies, people who are terminal and they know it.
My challenges and this treatment seems so pathetic compared to what others are facing. But again I come back to the fact that, like the others, I did not ask for this. In the past six years I've dealt with loss, ending a job, moving across country and the realization that I am totally on my own. Sometimes, this little tumor might as well be a mountain!
As another friend put it, "Now that you won't be losing your hair, no one will even know you have cancer. How great is that?"
At the time the person said that to me, I thought it WAS great. But now the reality of my situation is sinking in. I know I still have it. I know I have to deal with driving to Muskegon every weekday morning for a treatment at 9:20 for six weeks to try to kill off what may remain behind. I know every night I'll be standing by myself in front of a mirror watching for any changes to my skin, dealing with the soreness, the possible warmth like a sunburn, seeing the left side changing color and possibly even shape from the treatments. None of this seems simple to me.
No one else has to see this, feel this, or deal with it. It doesn't affect anyone but me. As I go through all this, being who I am, I will do my best to treat it as if it were "no big deal".
But as I work to convince you, I'll also be trying just as hard to convince myself.
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