Seeing others through the lens of your heart

December 17, 2021 / 2 Comments

Last week I found myself sitting in the waiting room of a breast imaging office. It had been one year since my surprise breast cancer diagnosis and I was back for my annual scans. In the past year I have undergone surgery, radiation, and the necessary follow-ups, but this was the first time they were specifically looking for any new developments. To say I was anxious was an understatement.

As I was waiting to hear my name called by the Radiation Tech I noticed a woman, sitting a few seats away, with tears in her eyes. I recognized the look of fear and uncertainty, as I am sure I have had a similar look many times over the last few years. My heart immediately went out to her and I said “These scans can be really scary, can’t they?” She began to cry and went on to explain she had recently noticed a lump, had a mammogram, and was referred to a breast surgeon. She had seen the surgeon this morning and was now waiting to be called back for her biopsy. As she continued, she expressed fear that it was cancer (as breast cancer ran in her family), she didn’t know if the surgeon she was referred to was a good one, and that this time of year was such an awful time for all this to be happening. I was immediately drawn back to last year when I was experiencing the exact same emotions and concerns.

I asked her who the surgeon was that she had just met and the name she mentioned was my surgeon. He was wonderful! So compassionate, caring, willing to take whatever time you needed, and so knowledgeable and experienced in his field. I immediately told her what great hands she was in and shared my very positive experience with him. I also shared that I knew exactly what she was going through, as I was sitting where she now is just one year ago. She asked me many questions about my diagnosis and subsequent treatments and seemed a little less fearful and alone. I was never so thankful for an appointment running behind before and knew God had placed me in that exact seat, at that exact time, for just this reason. We exchanged names and I told her I would be praying for her in the coming weeks. She began to cry again, but this time from a place of some relief and a feeling of being heard and understood.

Just a few short years ago I don’t think I would have noticed a woman, emotionally distraught, sitting in a waiting room with me. If I had I am not sure I would have engaged, as I wouldn’t have had any idea what I should say. But that day I was there, present and willing to connect with another human being in need. I was willing to see with my heart and not just my eyes.

I was called back just a few minutes later and prayed for her as I changed for my scans. The wonderful news is my scans were clear and the surgeon doesn’t feel I need to be scanned again for another year. I am so thankful, but am also very aware that it doesn’t always go that way. My mammogram friend has been so on my mind and in my heart over the last week. I will continue to pray for her as she awaits her pathology results and makes any necessary decisions over the next few weeks and months. And I continue to be grateful that I was there that day and was able to see someone in pain instead of just being lost in my own fear over the tests of the day.

As this holiday season fast approaches, let’s all look for ways to see others through our hearts and not just with our eyes. There are so many hurting people all around us who need our smile, kind glance, or willing ear. Be on the lookout for opportunities to be for others what we sometimes need others to be for us. Wishing each of you a peace that passes all understanding during this holiday season.

Radiation, but no chemo!

April 16, 2021 / 6 Comments

Consultation after consultation. More doctors’ appointments than I could keep straight. I just looked back through my calendar and this is the list of who I saw just in January: Surgeon, Oncologist, Palliative Care, Dietician, Cancer Rehab, Radiation Oncologist, and Social Worker. Thank goodness for good insurance. The consensus was no chemotherapy was warranted (thank God), but daily whole breast radiation with a boost to the tumor site was recommended. That began in February and completed in March. April is mainly dedicated to recovery from the radiation treatment, physical therapy/rehab, my covid vaccines, and the start of daily maintenance meds (an aromatase inhibitor to suppress my estrogen production) for the next five years. Please pray the side effects from that medication are minimal. I am thankful for modern medical advancements, but am tired, both physically and mentally.

That was a long way to say I am well on the road to recovery and thank each one of you for your kind words, thoughts, and prayers over these last few months! A cancer diagnosis is something no one ever wants, but far too many of us experience. We can do all we know to do to reduce our chances, but there is nothing that is guaranteed to make us bulletproof. So, I continue to eat healthfully (whole food, plant based), work on my mental health (PTSD is a very real part of these journeys), and pray this is the last time I face this disease. I know many of you have been affected by cancer or have someone close to you who has. There is so much fear associated with this diagnosis. I recently read “Courage is fear that has said its prayers.” So, I pray. I pray for courage to just do the next thing and a peace that passes all understanding. I pray that for every one of you as well. Let’s embrace the comfort and hope that is found in community and continue doing this thing called life together!

Back in the fight

January 10, 2021 / 6 Comments

It began just like any other day. It was two weeks before Christmas, I had errands to run, and my annual mammogram and ultrasound scheduled. And then it happened, “there is an abnormality on your ultrasound.” “Most likely a glandular mass.” “Recommend a biopsy just to be safe.” Life went into slow motion. What if it’s cancer again? I can’t do this again! I scheduled the biopsy for the following week. The day arrived and the physician agreed with the original radiologist that it looked like a glandular mass (not a concern). I would have the pathology in two days. Those two days moved like molasses in winter. And then the call from my GYN, it was Breast Cancer. Cancer, a word I NEVER wanted to hear again in my life.

I saw the surgeon the week of Christmas and was scheduled for surgery the week between Christmas and New Year. What a holiday season it was. What-ifs weighed heavy on my mind at all times, even though I knew focusing on it every second wouldn’t change anything. The day of surgery arrived. First, I was sent for a sentinel lymph node injection and locating, then on to a needle localization (a wire is inserted into the mass using imaging guidance, that was fun). Finally, it was time for surgery. I was so thankful I was able to do all this as an outpatient, especially given the current Covid situation. Now to start the surgery recovery and await the pathology. The lab was really backed up with two holidays in the previous two weeks and the understaffing because of the pandemic. What should have been two to three days dragged on to nine, long days. When it finally came back this past week the results were favorable (as favorable as a cancer can be). I will see the surgeon for follow-up this coming week and get more information then.

Then, I’m off to the oncologist. I am hoping the next steps won’t include chemotherapy! There’s that work, Hope. It seems to appear more in my life in the last few years than ever before. Hope is so important, but sometimes so elusive. There have been so many times in my cancer battles that hope felt all but lost. Yet here I am! I am left wondering what the purpose is in all these diagnoses, but I choose to believe there is one.

So, I am firmly back in the fight again. A place I never wanted to be once, no less twice. Questioning why my immune system seems to not be able to contain rogue cancer cells before they become something more. I have changed my eating choices to the most inhospitable for cancer growth (whole food, plant based), am at a healthy weight (most of the time), work on my stress management (not always too successfully, if I am being totally honest), but here I am. So I ask you, my Hopeful Survivor friends, to send well wishes and/or prayers my way during these next few months. I think community is so important and I consider each of you mine. And never forget, as you face your own road you never wanted to travel, that there is always hope! It is not only my blog byline, but a constant theme in my life. Wishing you all a healthy and peaceful new year and sending so much love your way!

Scanxiety is real

February 20, 2020 / 1 Comment

Do you know what scanxiety is? If not, you are very lucky. Scanxiety is the crippling anxiety before undergoing or waiting for the results from cancer detecting scans. Those of us much too familiar with this event can attest to its existence.

Much has happened since I last discussed my scheduled scans. No recurrence, thank God (seven years clear!), but anxious moments all the same. My annual scan on a Friday in October was a cause of much stress. It was the first time I had gone a full year between scans. It was wonderful that my doctor felt I had gotten to that point, but my mind wondered what if there was something and it had a full year to grow? As the day approached my anxiety grew. I had an MRI and five x-rays and then proceeded to my appointment. The doctor took a look at the scans, said he didn’t notice anything new (I had been told that at my five year scans and he called me three days later saying I needed to come in for a biopsy, that the Radiologist thought he saw “something”), but that they had to be read by the Radiologist to be sure. Later than afternoon he called to say I was all set and I didn’t have to come back in for another year. YAY!! And then I received a call at 7:30 that night (I was at a concert) telling me the Radiologist noted something and they needed to circle back with him on Monday. My mind immediately went to a potentially negative outcome.

That weekend was horrible. I tried to keep myself busy, hoping to not think about it. On Saturday my husband and I went to an event at the NYS Fairgrounds to pass the time. That’s when I experienced what I now know was my first panic attack. I thought I was having a heart attack. My pulse was 126, I was sweating, shaking, couldn’t catch my breath, and felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. Off to Urgent Care we went. Long story short, they recommended I go to the ER to make sure it wasn’t a heart attack, but they could tell me it sounded like a panic attack. I said no thanks to the ER, signed their release, and headed home to take a Xanax and go to bed. Sunday I felt like a wet noodle, no energy and pretty nervous overall. The following day I received a call that the scans were indeed fine. Such a relief, but so much anxiety for nothing. I’m still not sure what was gained by calling me that Friday night, when nothing could be done before Monday morning but worry. All these details to say scanxiety is real.

I’m not sure why it is, but I seem to get more anxious as time goes on. My head knows the risk of recurrence decreases with each passing year, but my emotions don’t seem to get the message. It may be because I was in shock the first few years and just put one foot in front of the other to make it through the day. I was scanned every three months and measured my life in those short increments. Now that the scans are annual and I am regaining strength and some sort of quality of life (good, but definitely different), I feel like I have more to lose. Before my life was consumed with all things cancer treatment and recovery. Now I go out with friends, take vacations with my husband, and dream of a future. More to lose seems to equal more anxiety around the scans.

So, if you are a member of the Cancer Club, I get it. No matter how long it has been since your original diagnosis, scans are still really scary. But knowing others are experiencing the same feelings seems to be some sort of comfort. Never forget that sharing a heavy burden lightens the load. There is strength in community, make sure you find one. And please reach out to me if there is anything I can do. We are all in this together.