Today is the day I’ve been waiting on and yet also dreading for over a year now. My port will be accessed for the final time, God willing, and this chapter of my war on cancer will come to a celebratory close. 

I was talking to a friend this week after looking at recent photos taken of me.  Of course like most females I can’t help but notice all of the flaws.  It was also a huge realization that in so many ways I am not the person I was 16 months ago, and it shows. Duh, you may think!  Both my mind and body have been through hell and back. When I re-look at the photos, I can better appreciate the gray hair, the swollen appearance, the extra wrinkles, patchy brows, the unnatural way my chest looks and feels. Because it means I AM HERE.

16 months ago I wasn’t sure I would still be here.  I am living, breathing proof of the power of prayer and God’s protection through the storm. To compare myself to the photos I had taken before this battle is quite empowering now, as Ive taken some time to reflect on all that I’ve endured... and once I did, I was well, an emotional wreck.  An odd combination of excitement, gratitude, terror, grief, and shock. 

So here is a cliff notes version of the last 16 months.

After the trauma of all the initial tests and bad news, I started a brutal chemo cocktail with a day-old port in my chest. The drugs did an excellent job at killing the 5cm diseased area of cancer cells in my breast. An agonizing decision was made to opt for a double mastectomy, and I recovered from the procedure with no major hiccups, praise God. Hearing that I didn’t have a ‘complete response’ to all that chemo felt like a huge gut punch and setback.  I pressed on to radiation, and for the most part you’d never know now that I had those 37 rounds.  14 more infusions every third week of the immunotherapy + chemo drug also began during radiation, and of course at the beginning of the pandemic. 

It wouldn’t be right to skip over the clinical trial for the breast cancer vaccine. This will be ongoing for years, but the major part is almost over and has thus far has been a breeze. I hope and pray that the dedicated physician scientists will be able to glean some ground breaking knowledge from my body and my outcomes. 

The maintenance phase of most breast cancer treatment usually begins with a hormone blocker pill (for those whose cancers are positive for estrogen or progesterone). My mom and I spent tons of time researching and praying over what path we should lean towards. The route we chose was not wrong, but it was no picnic. I suffered for months with pretty intense side effects. Learned at that time I have osteopenia, likely a side effect from chemo. I tried so hard to be strong and push through the aches and pain, but it became too much to bear and my quality of life was dwindling. So we switched to a different medicine. Ah, that’s better. Or is it? Advocate, question, wonder... how do I know these drugs are actually working in my body when most of the time they aren’t used for women my age? 

 Turns out, no they probably weren’t doing the job. In my case, chemical menopause wasn’t achieved through the monthly injection. On to another drug. More risks, side effects to consider. Do we just hope and pray this is enough? Or do we keep pushing - throwing more at my body... a surgery at that?  How much more can it take?  Sure on the outside I look healed. As far as we know, I’m cancer free, and my gratitude is immeasurable. 

Oh, but looks can be deceiving friends. Some days it feels like these ‘pick your poison’ decisions will never end. The potential implications of those decisions haunting my thoughts and sleep  more than Id like to admit. The paralyzing fear that one day the good prognosis that’s favored will change to the worst. Any cancer survivor/thriver knows this brutal reality. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about the brave souls, and their families, who died of this terrible disease. Some of these women I didn’t even know on a personal level, and yet they have made such an impression on me. 

When most people go through a life threatening illness, that person or a loved one quickly becomes an expert. It’s not really even by choice.  There is so much info at our fingertips which is a blessing, yet so hard to sift through and identify the most useful information when some is very conflicting. You can also have the most amazing specialists in your corner, but you still are the most important voice in your health care decisions. So every moment I have spent researching treatment options (usually at night when kids are sleeping and I am once again wide awake) has been exhausting, confusing, terrifying,  enlightening and also rewarding. Weighing out the opinions of specialists when their advice opposes one another on the best approach for me to keep this beast away has probably been the most frustrating part.  Now I am grappling with feeling like I am losing my safety net (chemo & immunotherapy) that I’ve had since starting treatment.  I know the statistics and risks that my future holds. I am determined to see my babies grow up and not let the what if’s consume my life. Cancer won’t win. 

So today as cliche as it may sound, I’m going to turn the page and start writing the beginning of my new chapter. My active treatment is ending and I recognize the magnitude of this blessing, knowing that many of my warrior brothers and sisters do not have this privilege.  Healing will take time.  Cancer will always be a part of my life story, as it is for so many others. I continue to pray that I can be a light to others as I navigate survivorship.
 
Without a doubt the greatest blessing in this mess is that my relationship with the Lord is stronger, and he graciously planted so many  truly exceptional people in my path along the way. 

Caregivers, physicians/NPs, nurses, front office staff, radiation technicians, pharmacists,  surgeons, donors, fellow warriors and their families, my family, friends, co- workers... all of your support, love, and prayers are the constant in my story and for that I couldn’t be more thankful. 

I am making a tremendous effort to view today as a gain, not a loss. I will truly miss my visits to the cancer center every 3 weeks, not for the needle sticks but for the people. My guardian angels who made this marathon not just more bearable, but something I looked forward to. To all of my St Vincent peeps - I LOVE YOU! Even when you may feel burnt out, remember these words. God has you right where you’re supposed to be. You will probably never know the true power and meaning behind your smiles, encouraging words, and healing hands with every patient you touch. 

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.  2 Timothy 4:7

 Thank you for your prayers🙏🏻

1.  No infections (especially covid) that could compromise my next surgery

2.  Guidance and peace surrounding my surgery plans for December 11th 

3.   Healing  physically and emotionally for myself and our family