August 10, 2018

Hi dear readers. It feels like it has been some time since I last wrote, although in actuality I think I posted on Saturday.

When I did post on Saturday, I failed to mention that August 10th was the 1 year anniversary of my initial diagnosis of breast cancer. I cannot believe it has been a whole year.

I vividly remember getting the news. If you are up to date on my blog, then you know that I wasn’t called by a physician, but instead a receptionist, who called to schedule an appointment for me with an oncologist.

I remember logging onto the electronic medical records and looking at my own pathology report from the core biopsy they had done the day earlier. I was sitting on the blue couch in the living room, with my laptop resting on my legs.

My husband was gone for the day. He had left the day prior to go to his friend’s lake-house for the weekend. He and some of his friends make a pilgrimage out there one weekend every summer. I wouldn’t tell him the news until he came back the next evening. I didn’t want to ruin his trip. His last trip before the world came crumbling down upon us.

When I did finally tell him, he just uttered “no.” I can still hear it. It broke my heart, but I had to be strong. I’ve always felt like I have to be strong.

Back to that day; the day that I found out. I cried. I sat on the couch, with my pregnant belly distended in the air, and I cried. I cried and I cried and I cried.

I cried the way you do when you are a child. When you gasp for air because you can’t catch your breath. I used to call that kind of crying “animal sounds” when I was a kid. I fundamentally understood that it was a vestige of our animalistic nature.

I didn’t cry as much when I found out the cancer had spread to my lungs. I don’t even remember the date off the top of my head. A quick look on my calendar in my phone tells me that it was August 1st, 2019 – the date of my CT guided FNA.

There wasn’t the same shock value when I found out it was stage four breast cancer. I already knew there was a high chance of recurrence. I already knew this was a possibility.

I didn’t even get a full year before I found the cancer had metastasized. I didn’t get any period of remission or break in treatment. But, that doesn’t matter. None of it fucking matters. The only thing that matters is that I live, which of course I have very little control over.

Our friend’s two daughters had a birthday party yesterday. They had one last summer, too. Both, unfortunately, are temporally marked in my head by their relation to my diagnoses. First breast cancer stage 2, now breast cancer stage 4. I told my friend that at this rate I will be dead for the girls’ next birthday party.

I hope that isn’t the case.

Love and light to you all!! Don’t let this post fool you! I am not super duper depressed and I am doing just fine! I am significantly less exhausted than I was when I wrote the Tired post and my back isn’t aching as much – thanks to scheduling my Tylenol doses. Just writing this helps me work through all this S.H.I.T! And, hopefully it helps all you readers, too! More love and light to you my dear readers! Until next time!