Breast Cancer -- I'm Aware

Four Sundays ago, I stepped up to the cash register to pay for a cute burgundy sports bra. The cashier asked, "Would you like to donate to Breast Cancer Awareness month?"

I wanted to respond, "Oh, believe me, I'm very aware of breast cancer." Instead, I just said, "Yes."

I've been asked to donate multiple times during past Octobers when pink ribbons, pink jewelry and t-shirts, pink everything abounds, marking Breast Cancer Awareness month. This was the first time I've been asked since January 6 when I heard the words, "You have breast cancer."

Stepping outside the store to stroll through the breezeway of the San Clemente Outlets, I was greeted by a large promotional banner touting a local hospital's breast cancer center, complete with the smiling face of a breast cancer survivor.

It settled into untouched crevices of my brain -- I am one of them now. I can never again say, "I've never had cancer." I will always be a breast cancer survivor. I will always have to check that damn box when I fill out basic medical forms.

I am very...very...very aware of breast cancer.

Since January 6, I have undergone a lumpectomy and four weeks of radiation followed by the beginning of a hormone blocker since my cancer was estrogen/progesterone positive. I will have to take the aromatase inhibitor (AI) for five to ten years. I also underwent a follow-up mammogram in June. After several calls back to the room to get a clearer view of this or that, I finally got the ALL CLEAR!

There's nothing simple, NOTHING, about a breast cancer diagnosis. Each necessary decision leads to potential side effects and outcomes, some relatively inconsequential, others life-changing, mostly in the ways you don't want your life to be changed.

Since starting the hormone blocker, I carry with me my own personal heat wave, coming and going at the most random times. Like when my face suddenly glistens with sweat during a tour for a potential new family at my school. It's hard to nonchalantly wipe the drops off your nose, but you don't want them to sit there like the dew on a morning lily either. Since I am the person who runs her heater even in the summer, you can imagine that the extremes of temperature change necessitate a well-thought-out wardrobe consisting of layers that can be stripped off and quickly pulled back on after the heat wave subsides.

The worst is when it happens at night. Sleep is my thing. I've never had trouble sleeping, and it's a good thing. I'm evil when my sleep is interrupted. Now, on the hormone blocker, I kick off the covers, turn on the fan, turn off the fan, pull the covers back on...and, repeat.

Other lovely changes have come along with the commencement of the hormone blocker, but I will save that diatribe for another day.

Radiation was a piece of cake for me. But in the past two or three months I have begun to feel tightness along my left side and along the front of my shoulder. I'm told that's due to radiation and is normal. Just started physical therapy to see if we can loosen things up a bit.

Cosmetically, nothing much has changed. Before lumpectomy and radiation, my boobs looked like they had nursed four babies. Which is appropriate, since that's exactly what they did. After lumpectomy and radiation, my boobs look like they have nursed four babies. And then somehow got in a knife fight, sustaining one perfect slice on top and one in the armpit. Even those scars are fading with time.

By far, the most difficult part of this breast cancer journey lies in the thoughts and emotions. There is a keen attentiveness to any new aches, pains or sensations. When commercials come on TV for medications for metastatic breast cancer, a voice inside says, "That could be you someday." In the dark of night, when sleep eludes you like a toddler running away with a peanut butter sandwich, you feel a pang of sadness. The concept of your own mortality has presented itself and refuses to be ignored. Life will never be the same. In the ways that count most, it can be better.

I'm pretty honest about the crappy things that have come along with a breast cancer diagnosis and treatment. I'm also pretty darn grateful! I'm grateful for medical advances. Grateful for my health. Grateful for my family and friends. Grateful for a comfortable home. Grateful for two crazy dogs. Grateful for the gorgeousness (yeah, I'm using that word) of nature that fills me up! Grateful for my books, my new kamasutra chai tea blend, my ugly, cushy Oofos sandals. Grateful that my plantar fasciitis, after FIVE long years, is finally gone! I could go on and on and on with my gratitude list. I would never complete it because there are new things to add at the end of every day.

My sister, if you are traveling down this road with me, may I offer you some words of encouragement and, if I may be so presumptuous, wisdom?

• Let go of your usual expectations for yourself. This is not the time to religiously check off items on your to- do list or cling to inflexibility in any form. Self-compassion and grace are the order of the day for you, my friend. This is a lot.

• Every day, do at least ONE KIND thing for yourself. A cup of your favorite tea, a movie on the couch, a conversation with a bestie. Do something that feeds your soul. And for you perfectionists following the letter of the law -- I said at LEAST one, not JUST one!

• When thoughts of your mortality arise, feel the sadness or fear--feel whatever comes up.  And then allow this reality to move you forward into a daily embracing of THE PRESENT MOMENT. This moment is the only one any of us have. It is the time for us to hug, to laugh, to cry, to paint, to work, to dance, to hike, to snuggle on the couch, to eat mouth-watering food, to read a good book.

• Ask for what you need, and let people help you! Whether you have just been diagnosed or are months or years past the diagnosis, there will be times when you need help. You may need someone to watch your kids or your dogs while you go in for a routine checkup. Or you may need a listening ear so you can cry, cuss, or ask for advice. People WANT to help. Let them.

• Carve out time whenever you can, even just five minutes, for meditation. It does wonders for anxiety. There are so many options these days -- just Google it. Right now, I'm loving an app called Second Breath, a Christian meditation app.

Since learning I had breast cancer at the start of 2022, I have learned a lot about myself. I have gained clarity like never before about some important matters. And I have once again found Emmanuel--God WITH ME--to be the ground beneath my feet, the comfort soothing my soul, and the strength moving me forward. Christ is my joy. My stability. My hope.  

Here's to all of us who need no Breast Cancer Awareness month to make us aware. And to all who love us and show up for us.