I have so much to be thankful for. I have energy, I have hair, I can sing (loudly, and in the car), my nails don't fall off unexpectedly, or turn black because I causally bump them against something, and I am still surrounded by love and light every day.
This fall has been spectacular. I met with my new oncologist. He is adorable and I am pretty sure he hung the moon.
My appointment with him brought really wonderful happy tears to my eyes. After he reviewed all of my charts (which are pretty incredibly extensive) he asked me to see a picture of my children. I felt the tears in my eyes when he said, "Man, this must have been a hard year for all of you."
I loved that I was a person to him, not a disease that he needed to treat. None of my care givers have ever asked to see a picture of my family until that day, I didn't realize how much it would mean to me until it happened.
The appointment just got better after that.
He took the notebook that I write all of my questions in from me, and wrote answers in my book as we discussed my concerns. It was fantastic. We got to my biggest question, the one that my previous oncologist would never answer directly.
Prognosis?
I have done my own research, I know what having HER2 positive cancer means. The next five years are crucial for me, I have to evaluate every headache and sore muscle/bone and report them to the oncologist if they last longer than 3 weeks. And I have to maintain hope.
Do you want to know what he said? What this wonderful, magical man said to me. He looked at my history again. He took a deep breath, put his hand on my knee and said, "Rebecca, I don't think you are going to die from Cancer. I think you are going to be old and die from a heart attack like the rest of us."
I don't think I have ever heard more beautiful words in my entire life, except when my breast surgeon told me that the cancer was gone. I was too taken aback to cry like I wanted to, instead I just beamed as he told me that I didn't need to see him for six months. SIX MONTHS!
Let me put this into perspective, for the last 14 months I have been in the oncology office/infusion center every three weeks, now he doesn't want to see me for SIX MONTHS!
I am anxious, really really anxious. That is a long time, and I am here to tell you that a lot can happen in that span of time - so I have made a decision. I am going to LIVE. No more putting things I want to do off for another time, as a family we are making a concerted effort to have fun and do things together. Even if they are little things. And, I am going to do my best to stop worrying about what is not in my control. If the cancer comes back I can't stop that, there is no magic button, pill, or poison to keep it at bay. I just have to keep my chin up and keep on keeping on.
I've got this, after all it is still my fairy tale.
I attended my first survivor celebration at the end of September. It was amazing! I want to be a part of every celebration that I can be. I was truly blessed to be able to share the day with my warrior sisters. The memories of that afternoon will last a lifetime.
This week I had the unforgettable opportunity to address JR Tucker High School's graduating class of 2017 at their convocation. This means that I got to tell my story to the entire school plus parents and dignitaries. It was scary - and empowering. I was able to spread the importance of early detection - and hope. The importance of friendship and faith. I am so thankful for the experience and I hope that I am able to participate in other similar opportunities in the future.
On Monday I will get my port out.
My port and I have a love hate relationship. I love that she saved me from getting countless IVs.
I hate that she hurts me, just about every day. I hate that even over a year later the kids are still totally freaked out and a little afraid of my secret spy port, or my Lego as it is now often referred to. She keeps me from sleeping on my side, from turning my head too quickly, I can spot her in just about every picture that is taken of me. She is a constant reminder of cancer, just as the scar that she leaves behind will be a constant reminder of my battle, and my strength.
Sometimes while working on a difficult project, or when I am trying to find just the right words I find that I touch my port. It is oddly grounding and empowering.
All that being said I cannot wait for her to be GONE.
I think it is fair to admit that I am a little scared, I will be awake while getting the port out. The port that goes up into my neck, and feeds into my heart. I will be awake when my lovely and gifted surgeon pulls it out of me. I will be able to drive myself there, and drive myself home. So, yeah, I am a little scared.
The kids are also anxious, please keep them and David in your thoughts on Monday. Everyone gets a little jumpy right before mommy goes in for surgery.
I am truly, eternally thankful for all of you. For your friendship and love, for your honesty and your support. Thank you for loving me through it.
It is breast cancer awareness month. I would not be alive today if it were not for Savanna sharing her story. Please, please please - know your body, be aware of any changes. Trust yourself, you can save your life.
#fightlikeamommy
#itisstillmyfairytale
