To the Newly Diagnosed Woman (Or To Myself Three Years Ago)
Recently, I was asked what I would tell a woman newly diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. So I thought back to when I was newly diagnosed; not the day I got my official diagnosis, but the day I first learned that there was something concerning on my scan.
It was the day before my best friend’s wedding, a day that was already full with a bridal luncheon, reception setup, and the rehearsal/rehearsal dinner, not to mention trying to catch up with friends who had come in from out of town for the wedding. My doctor had ordered the CT scan after I complained of persistent back pain and I planned to squeeze it in that morning before my bridesmaid duties kicked in. If I had known the news that would come, I think I would have scheduled it a different day. But I was also having a bone scan on Monday, so I didn’t expect to know anything until after both tests were done.
Sometime during the bridal luncheon, however, I missed a call from my oncologist, who left me a message asking me to call him. I also got an automatic notification that he had scheduled an appointment for me on Tuesday. I had a terrible sense that something was wrong.
I wasn’t able to reach my oncologist with my return call, so I pulled up the radiologist’s report on my own. I didn’t understand a lot of the words it used, but Google was oh-so-kind to tell me that these were all associated with bone injuries caused by cancer that had spread. And so I looked up “breast cancer that has spread” and started seeing words like “incurable” and “terminal.”
Terminal?? How long did I have? Google knew the answer to that, too – three years, it told me. Three years? Three years?!?! How could that be? I was only 35. I had just had to accept that I would never have biological children (surgery to remove my ovaries was scheduled for the coming Wednesday) and now my very life was being taken away, too. The enormity of it all overwhelmed me and I sobbed in the car on the way to set up for the wedding reception.
I am now four months from that three-year mark. I am still on the very first treatment they offered me.
So what would I tell a woman newly diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer? I would tell her that she’s just been given a life sentence, it’s true, but it’s not (yet) a death sentence. I’m almost to that three year statistic and there are still many more treatments left to try against my cancer, not to mention any new treatments that are being created right now. And these treatments aren’t the same as the ones you take for early stage breast cancer. You’re not at the cancer center once a week, getting pumped full of toxins; you’re at home, taking pills a couple of times a day. Do you feel awesome? Not really. At least I don’t. But I don’t want to die every day, like I did when I was on chemo. I have less energy (sometimes a lot less). I have pain from the cancer-induced fracture in my spine. But I’m still here and the quality of my life is still pretty decent. I even look “normal.” People often forget I’m sick or are surprised when I tell them.
So yes, newly-diagnosed friend, breast cancer is now with you to stay. Maybe you should step up your timeline for completing the things on your bucket list, but don’t pick out your funeral outfit yet. Styles may change by the time you die.
It was the day before my best friend’s wedding, a day that was already full with a bridal luncheon, reception setup, and the rehearsal/rehearsal dinner, not to mention trying to catch up with friends who had come in from out of town for the wedding. My doctor had ordered the CT scan after I complained of persistent back pain and I planned to squeeze it in that morning before my bridesmaid duties kicked in. If I had known the news that would come, I think I would have scheduled it a different day. But I was also having a bone scan on Monday, so I didn’t expect to know anything until after both tests were done.
Sometime during the bridal luncheon, however, I missed a call from my oncologist, who left me a message asking me to call him. I also got an automatic notification that he had scheduled an appointment for me on Tuesday. I had a terrible sense that something was wrong.
I wasn’t able to reach my oncologist with my return call, so I pulled up the radiologist’s report on my own. I didn’t understand a lot of the words it used, but Google was oh-so-kind to tell me that these were all associated with bone injuries caused by cancer that had spread. And so I looked up “breast cancer that has spread” and started seeing words like “incurable” and “terminal.”
Terminal?? How long did I have? Google knew the answer to that, too – three years, it told me. Three years? Three years?!?! How could that be? I was only 35. I had just had to accept that I would never have biological children (surgery to remove my ovaries was scheduled for the coming Wednesday) and now my very life was being taken away, too. The enormity of it all overwhelmed me and I sobbed in the car on the way to set up for the wedding reception.
I am now four months from that three-year mark. I am still on the very first treatment they offered me.
So what would I tell a woman newly diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer? I would tell her that she’s just been given a life sentence, it’s true, but it’s not (yet) a death sentence. I’m almost to that three year statistic and there are still many more treatments left to try against my cancer, not to mention any new treatments that are being created right now. And these treatments aren’t the same as the ones you take for early stage breast cancer. You’re not at the cancer center once a week, getting pumped full of toxins; you’re at home, taking pills a couple of times a day. Do you feel awesome? Not really. At least I don’t. But I don’t want to die every day, like I did when I was on chemo. I have less energy (sometimes a lot less). I have pain from the cancer-induced fracture in my spine. But I’m still here and the quality of my life is still pretty decent. I even look “normal.” People often forget I’m sick or are surprised when I tell them.
So yes, newly-diagnosed friend, breast cancer is now with you to stay. Maybe you should step up your timeline for completing the things on your bucket list, but don’t pick out your funeral outfit yet. Styles may change by the time you die.
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