For some reason, I can be zooming along carelessly and free, breathing in each new day as it comes...and then I look ahead in my planner and see that I have my three month check up soon.
I log into MyChart to verify the appointment (not for a couple weeks because I'm sure someone will ask) and call to make a follow-up with my plastics that corresponds with when I'll be at the Clinic. I still have my survivor face on. You know the survivor face. It's plastered on billboards and mailings. It's in words like hope, fight, faith, strength. The woman making the appointment takes my information.
"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry you are going through this. My daughter is your age. I can't even imagine. Do you have children?"
"Yes, I do. Very active children. That's why I'd like to get in on the same day I'm at the Clinic if at all possible."
"Hold on, I'll get my supervisor. Maybe she can work you in even though it's a surgery day for Djohan."
There's this expectation of survivors that I can't really put into words, but I can feel. In some ways this expectation is great. Case in point, a YOUNG survivor with CHILDREN gets first dibs on appointments and they will rearrange the surgeons schedule to fit me in.
Another example I have noticed, everyone loves to see me living life to the fullest. When I post a picture, smiling and happy, it brings a sense of pride and inspiration to everyone. I understand this flood of emotions because I feel the same way when I see a fellow survivor flourishing and happy. You all witnessed the hellish last year of my life and now it feels good to see me living again...
But there is also a downside to the expectations that come with the word survivor. A word that will always be attached to my name..."Oh, I'm sure you know Laura. She's the young woman from town that had cancer last year". I don't want to always be cancer Laura and I do a great job of not letting the word define me...until it's check up time.
I confirm my appointments and use my survivor attitude, but then I can never resist opening the test results tab on my personal online site:
This is where the downside of the expectations of a survivor comes into play. I know what I'm EXPECTED to think, how I'm expected to act, what people want me to feel, but I can't choose those thoughts as an appointment approaches.
These are not new feelings. Once you have heard the words, "you have cancer", they can't be unheard. Just when you start living and stop worrying about dying, you have an appointment to remind you of that day that you sat in the doctors office while the doctor confirmed your greatest fear.
In conversation last week I said, "I'll see you Friday!" but I really meant SUNDAY. In my current mindset, that AUTOMATICALLY means the cancer is back in my brain. NOT that I'm a overactive freak with too many activities in the planner.
Or, someone that has been a pillar of strength, wisdom and grace; a person that meets and exceeds all expectations that define a survivor, has a recurrence. And you feel like a ticking time bomb again. ***I LOVE YOU RENEE AND I'M PRAYING LOUD AND CONSTANT!!***
I've always been a people-pleaser. If I'm expected to do/act a certain way, most likely I will. The majority of the time I feel like I portray "SURVIVOR" well, but as an appointment approaches and I compile the list of questions for my new doctor (yes, Holly left the Clinic. No, I don't want to talk about it. It sucks and I'm not happy), it's much more difficult to shut the doubt out of my mind.
So this is me checking in with you, but also with myself. I'm not excited to meet the new doctor, but I have thought about it and another set of hands and eyes can't be a bad thing, right?! Maybe he'll be really hot...never mind, I just googled him. Maybe he'll be really funny! Either way, Holly picked him specifically for me, so there must be a good reason and if he's not a good fit, I'll go oncologist shopping.
Still smiling, but hugging a little more tightly. Sitting on the porch at night with my hubby instead of zoning out in front of the television. Going back for the extra kiss during whack-a-mole bedtime after a long day. Breathing in the smell of the monsters when they climb onto my lap and softly touching their soft hair as it brushes against my face. Folding myself in Aaron's arms when I walk in the door instead of immediately starting the housework.
Hopefully you will do the same.
All my love,
I log into MyChart to verify the appointment (not for a couple weeks because I'm sure someone will ask) and call to make a follow-up with my plastics that corresponds with when I'll be at the Clinic. I still have my survivor face on. You know the survivor face. It's plastered on billboards and mailings. It's in words like hope, fight, faith, strength. The woman making the appointment takes my information.
"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry you are going through this. My daughter is your age. I can't even imagine. Do you have children?"
"Yes, I do. Very active children. That's why I'd like to get in on the same day I'm at the Clinic if at all possible."
"Hold on, I'll get my supervisor. Maybe she can work you in even though it's a surgery day for Djohan."
There's this expectation of survivors that I can't really put into words, but I can feel. In some ways this expectation is great. Case in point, a YOUNG survivor with CHILDREN gets first dibs on appointments and they will rearrange the surgeons schedule to fit me in.
Another example I have noticed, everyone loves to see me living life to the fullest. When I post a picture, smiling and happy, it brings a sense of pride and inspiration to everyone. I understand this flood of emotions because I feel the same way when I see a fellow survivor flourishing and happy. You all witnessed the hellish last year of my life and now it feels good to see me living again...
But there is also a downside to the expectations that come with the word survivor. A word that will always be attached to my name..."Oh, I'm sure you know Laura. She's the young woman from town that had cancer last year". I don't want to always be cancer Laura and I do a great job of not letting the word define me...until it's check up time.
I confirm my appointments and use my survivor attitude, but then I can never resist opening the test results tab on my personal online site:
Glandular (Acinar)/Tubular Differentiation: 3 with treatment effectSo I read this section of the report, process the information I know and match it with my online medical doctorate, and I can't breathe again.
Nuclear Grade: 2 with treatment effect
Mitotic Rate: 1 with treatment effect
Overall Bloom Richardson Grade: II with treatment effect
Lymph-Vascular Invasion: Extensively present
Ductal Carcinoma In Situ (DCIS):
DCIS is present
Type: Solid
Nuclear Grade: 3
Necrosis: Absent
Lymph Nodes:
Number of sentinel lymph nodes examined: 6
Total number of lymph nodes examined (sentinel and nonsentinel): 6
Number of lymph nodes with macrometastases (>0.2 cm): 1
Number of lymph nodes with micrometastases (>0.2 mm to 0.2 cm and/or
>200cells):1
Number of lymph nodes with isolated tumor cells (less than or equal to 0.2
mm and less than or equal to 200 cells): 0
Number of lymph nodes without tumor cells identified: 4
Size of largest metastatic deposit (if present): 2.5 mm
Extranodal Invasion:
Present
Amount: 0.5 mm
Pathologic Staging(AJCC 7th Edition): ypT1a(m) ypN1a
This is where the downside of the expectations of a survivor comes into play. I know what I'm EXPECTED to think, how I'm expected to act, what people want me to feel, but I can't choose those thoughts as an appointment approaches.
Instead of peace, there is fear.
Instead of strength, my spirit holds on by a teeny tiny thread.
Instead of hope, I think of milestone gifts that I want to buy my children IN CASE it comes back.
Instead of faith, I question WHY!?!?!?!
Instead of fight, I force Aaron into conversations where we talk about how hard he expects me to fight if it comes back.
These are not new feelings. Once you have heard the words, "you have cancer", they can't be unheard. Just when you start living and stop worrying about dying, you have an appointment to remind you of that day that you sat in the doctors office while the doctor confirmed your greatest fear.
In conversation last week I said, "I'll see you Friday!" but I really meant SUNDAY. In my current mindset, that AUTOMATICALLY means the cancer is back in my brain. NOT that I'm a overactive freak with too many activities in the planner.
Or, someone that has been a pillar of strength, wisdom and grace; a person that meets and exceeds all expectations that define a survivor, has a recurrence. And you feel like a ticking time bomb again. ***I LOVE YOU RENEE AND I'M PRAYING LOUD AND CONSTANT!!***
I've always been a people-pleaser. If I'm expected to do/act a certain way, most likely I will. The majority of the time I feel like I portray "SURVIVOR" well, but as an appointment approaches and I compile the list of questions for my new doctor (yes, Holly left the Clinic. No, I don't want to talk about it. It sucks and I'm not happy), it's much more difficult to shut the doubt out of my mind.
So this is me checking in with you, but also with myself. I'm not excited to meet the new doctor, but I have thought about it and another set of hands and eyes can't be a bad thing, right?! Maybe he'll be really hot...never mind, I just googled him. Maybe he'll be really funny! Either way, Holly picked him specifically for me, so there must be a good reason and if he's not a good fit, I'll go oncologist shopping.
Still smiling, but hugging a little more tightly. Sitting on the porch at night with my hubby instead of zoning out in front of the television. Going back for the extra kiss during whack-a-mole bedtime after a long day. Breathing in the smell of the monsters when they climb onto my lap and softly touching their soft hair as it brushes against my face. Folding myself in Aaron's arms when I walk in the door instead of immediately starting the housework.
Hopefully you will do the same.
All my love,
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