I was putting away my "survivor" Race for the Cure shirt, and it's the one where I crossed out survivor and wrote "warrior." Five years later, I look at it and wonder if I'm a warrior or a survivor.
Overall, a lumpectomy isn't that bad. Sure, there's discomfort and drains. But within a week of my lumpectomy, I was hiking with my family. Granted, I was a lot slower than before surgery, but I was proud I could hike. I didn't want pity then, nor do I want it now. I just wanted everything to be over so I could resume my life.
But that was arrogant thinking. There is no "resuming of life." Life is completely different after cancer. The uncertainty, the tests, and more tests. It's port placement. It's chemotherapy: taxotere and cytoxan. Those drugs rapidly strip one's identity, one's hair. It's loss of taste, strength, eyebrows, and appetite. 24 hours after chemo, it's a white blood cell booster, that, 24 hours after it goes into the blood stream causes horrific bone and joint plus a fever. It's days and weeks of smiling through pain so others don't feel pity. The doctor who removed my port was unhappy about doing it; he wanted a better surgery to complete. He made me wait for three hours for a 15 minute procedure. He didn't allow the lidocaine to take affect before he cut into me. He jerked and pulled the port until I thought I was going to roll off the table. He didn't even stitch me up; he left it to someone else who didn't do a good job. The scar is traumatizing.
I had only four treatments over the course of four months, but they were difficult. Hanging around a chemo room all day by myself was depressing. There were people suffering much more than I was, which made me feel guilty for feeling so bad.
Then came radiation. No big deal, right? Wrong. There were radiation tattoos; no numbing for me. In the beginning of treatment, it wasn't so bad. By the end, I had a terrible burn under my arm and that area was in constant pain. At least during radiation, my hair started growing back.
I applaud my arrogance at calling myself a "warrior" five years ago, but I'm really a survivor. Cancer is the disease that continues giving, long after it's gone. It's taken me five years to be able to walk more than a couple of miles. It's taken me five years to have energy. It's caused me to forgo dairy and gluten because I can no longer digest them properly. My hair is thinner than before. My eyelashes are not as full or thick as they once were. I am allergic to the sun so I have to wear SPF 50 sunscreen and a hat.
And then there's current treatment: every six months Zometa infusions and Tamoxifen. Of course, Arimidex was worse, causing terrible joint pain and me to walk like a very old woman. Every six months I see my oncologist who changes her mind frequently about my treatment.
Life after cancer is survivable; I have traveled more in the last few years than I had in my life. I'm trying new hobbies, planning for my future. Most importantly, I'm a survivor.
