breast cancer

One Year After The Bell

March 31, 2022 by Gindi 2 Comments

That’s me. Today.

My six month oncologist visit happened to fall today.

One year after my last radiation treatment.

March 31^st.

It happened to be just before Easter weekend last year. Lots of analogies running through my head.

It’s been a bear of a week. (More on that tomorrow.)

I’ve been all upside down and inside out and it was all totally unrelated to this.

My friend asked me last month if I’d write to mark this anniversary. I wasn’t sure.

I went back and read what I wrote six months after the surgery. On August 4^th.

The side effects are largely gone. No more itching, thankfully. My range of motion on the right side is back.

But I’m having hot flashes from the Tamoxifen. And weight gain. I’m really heavy right now and uncomfortable about it most of the time.

My breasts are scarred up and I don’t like to see them. I’m super thankful I have them, mind you, but they’re a constant reminder.

I’m grateful. Regularly.

I’m amazed that the cancer was caught early, cut out in the surgery and I didn’t need chemotherapy.

I guess I’ve wondered how to live in the in between.

Part of what I’ve been doing is stepping back from my relationship with Christ.

It’s probably why I haven’t written.

I don’t know how to say that.

I’m not leaving the faith or anything, but I’ve sort of stepped into a selfish cycle.

Isn’t that terrible?

After all of the goodness of God and others, I’ve been pretty self focused the past four or five months.

I’ve focused on my kids and on my job and on spending money and lots of things surrounding me and mine, but not so much on what God wants me to do next.

This tension has cropped up between sacrificing everything because God has been so incredibly faithful despite my faithlessness (the whole Samuel’s mother giving him back to God idea) and squeezing everything into this life possible because who knows when it will end. Whether or not it’s what God wants.

It’s the ugliest part of how I’ve been processing.

So I don’t have a rainbows and sunshine anniversary post.

I’m struggling but I’m also okay.

The doctor said everything looked good today and I was utterly thankful for that.

I can pray every day, which I do, and thank God, which I do, but still not live in a space where God wants me to be.

I tried to write a final line to this post a dozen different ways. To wrap this up neatly. I kept deleting them. Because everything sounded trite and untrue. I don’t know what’s next. But maybe I’ll come back here again.

Six Months Later

August 4, 2021 by Gindi 5 Comments

Six months ago, I walked into MD Anderson alone (because of COVID) to have a malignant tumor cut out of my right breast.

Six months ago.

There are days it feels like I just finished but most of the time it feels more like years.

I wanted to write to mark the milestone.

I haven’t been back in to MD Anderson since early May.

My follow up appointments come in September and October. I’ll have new imaging to confirm all is clear and will continue on that twice a year schedule until they tell me I’m allowed to go back to annual appointments.

I’m taking Tamoxifen and will be on some sort of estrogen blocking drug for five years. My tumor was estrogen positive so these meds help to limit recurrence.

Before we left for Bar Harbor I thought it had caused blood clots, a possible side effect, so I sat in a couple of ERs. Finally, I got in to see my primary doctor, and it wasn’t blood clots but just bad leg cramps. Another side effect. The oncologist allowed me a three week break from the medicine, but now I’ve resumed. I’m still having the cramps but they are manageable.

Besides the tiny white pill, there are other side effects.

My right breast (this is yucky but the unvarnished truth) itches all the time. I’m assuming it is all that scar tissue healing but it drives me insane. And you can’t exactly walk around scratching your side boob.

Laugh. Sigh.

Bras don’t fit quite right. I just bought three new ones and it’s better, but I’d rather be braless. That is usually frowned upon in Corporate America though. Actually, it’s frowned upon anywhere in American for a mom in her 40s.

The most painful side effect is from the radiation. I’ve lost some range of motion in my right shoulder. It hurts to lay on my right side. I have a hard time getting some tops on and off.

My friend and I have started working out together again in the mornings (5:15 – yawn!). I’ve noticed that it feels like my right shoulder and chest muscles are shredding as I work out. But I’m hopeful the pain will lessen with workouts. Maybe this new work out regime will not only help me lose the pandemic/cancer pounds, but also really improve my strength and range of motion on the right side. I take responsibility for having let it go this long without working it more.

Besides all this physical stuff, there is another less tangible side effect.

Overall, DURING the cancer, I was pragmatic. I try to be efficient. Action oriented. Craft a to do list and then cross things off.

So I did that with cancer. Talk to these people. Get these doctors. Calendar these items.

KNOCK. IT. OUT.

I even had people say, kindly and supportively, if anyone can kick cancer’s butt, it’s you.

We all know that’s not true. Cancer does not care if you are efficient or action oriented. It is no respecter of age or gender or disposition. (Sadly, much like COVID.)

Yet, I DID ALL THE THINGS.

Except. I don’t know that I ever processed it. I’m not sure I grieved.

There are places emotions have leaked out, but not so much in the cancer space.

Then I was asked to share my story to a cancer support group. The two women who run the group chatted with me over Zoom and asked me to share my story with them. So I started walking through what happened. And I just started crying.

I had no control over it.

It even caught me off guard.

I remember saying, through tears, as I shared, I guess this is all still really fresh.

So I’m looking back at that time and figuring out if there’s some emotional work I need to be doing too. If the physical work is necessary, and overdue, isn’t the mental and emotional?

The absolute best side effect of cancer has been helping others with their diagnosis. Three weeks to the day after my last radiation appointment, I was able to connect with three women who received their first diagnosis. I had a coffee. A conference call. Made a cancer bag like others did for me. I feel so honored to be able to walk with others through this valley.

But instead of just jumping in with both feet to help, which my little Enneagram 3 Wing 2 does on autopilot, I need to process some things as well. If I’m actually going to be of any help to others struggling, I need to be healthy. And honest about what cancer meant in my life and my family’s lives. Honest about what it means for our future.

It’s six months today.

I am incredibly grateful for my outcome.

Overwhelmed by the people who surrounded us.

Indebted to a Savior and Heavenly Father who held me through it all.

And I’m hopeful. For what’s next.

Day 23 – Ring the Bell

March 31, 2021 by Gindi 2 Comments

It’s done. I rang the bell.

Hallelujah!

It was a really good day.

I cried on and off all day. I’m just so overwhelmed by the goodness of God.

Music is a big part of my faith experience. I love music and it’s so often the tool God uses to draw me close.

Driving to my last radiation treatment, I turned on the radio. I don’t often listen to our local Christian radio station while driving to the hospital, I might listen to news or a podcast, but this morning I felt compelled.

While driving in, this was the playlist that came on: Jericho by Andrew Ripp, Dry Bones by Lauren Daigle, Waymaker by Leeland, and Known by Tauren Wells.

If you’re not familar with these songs, here some of the lyrics:

Long before I ever called your name, you were fighting for my victory. Carved in your flesh and bone are wounds that have said my soul’s forgiven. All of my fears like Jericho walls gotta come down, come down… (Jericho)

But we know that You are God, Yours is the victory. WE know there is more to come that we may not yet see. So with the faith You’ve given us we’ll step into the valley unafraid. As we call out to dry bones, come alive, come alive. We call out to dead hearts, come alive, come alive. Up out of the ashes, let us see an army rise. We call out to dry bones, come alive. (Dry Bones)

And you are way maker, miracle worker, promise keeper, light in the darkness. My God, that is who you are. (Waymaker)

I’m fully known and loved by You. You won’t let go, no matter what I do. And it’s not one or the other, it’s hard truth and ridiculous grace to be known, fully known, and loved by you. I’m fully known and loved by you. (Known)

While I was at MD Anderson, the amazing team of therapists I had were so excited for me. My entire family came and stood outside the glass door that looks in at the bell so they could cheer me on. The women were so excited to “meet” the triplets they’d heard about.

After my final dose of radiation, we walked down the hall. You read a poem on the wall, “Ring this bell, three times well, it’s toll to clearly say, my treatment’s done, this course is run, and I am on my way!” Seriously, I’m crying typing it. I was crying reading it. Then you toll the bell three times. Bray and the kids were outside cheering.

I’d stopped for donuts for the therapists and picked some up for the kids too. I got to drop them off at school (a little late, we got special clearance to come celebrate with me)!

On our way to school, God blessed me with more music. Amen by King and Country and New Today by Micah Tyler. Resurrection day is here. Bells are ringin’ loud and clear. Caterpillar to a butterfly. Risen to another life. All the people say Amen! Amen! All the people say Amen! Amen! From death to life. Amen means SO BE IT. It is an affirmative response. And a conclusion. What a gift to have AMEN playing on the radio at my conclusion. Then:
Your mercies are new today, your mercies are new today. I can rest on your shoulders, there is grace to start over, your mercies are new today. (New Today) After the conclusion, I had the gift of a reminder: TODAY IS NEW! There is grace to start over. Today is a fresh start.

What a gift. God affirming messages through music that He has been teaching me all along the way. People all day trickled in with texts and messages. A dear friend dropped flowers. A precious co-worker zoomed me. (Ha!)

After little bit’s softball practice, Bray took us all out to dinner to celebrate. We went to the exact same spot he took us after we’d found out the cancer news and we were all so sad. We had laughed so hard that night, for the first time in two days, and it was such a celebration this time. He ordered champagne and dessert, big splurges for us, and we ended up seeing three separate families we knew at the restaurant who cheered us too! I opened a good bottle of wine a precious executive had given me a few years back for a big win. I let him know he was helping us celebrate another big win.

It’s all been a gift. All of it. The drains and the miracle of how it got out. The surgeon and the miracle of how I got her. COVID and the miracle of how everyone caught it but me. The community who utterly surrounded us and loved us and showered us with their presence and their presents.

I’m not out of it. I’m still burned and tired and it will take a few weeks. But I’m SO completely deep in my bones grateful. For this. For God. For my family. And for you.

Day 21 – Last Week

March 29, 2021 by Gindi 1 Comment

Well, I did it!

I managed to write every day of radiation.

Maybe I’m jumping the gun.

There are two more days left.

That’s right. Two. More. Days.

Today was Day 21 and my last day is Wednesday.

I hesitate to say how I am because I feel like it’s the underlying theme in all my posts. Tired. And burned.

But even with that, I’m almost done.

It’s extraordinary to me.

I had my biopsy on December 2^nd. Then my doctor called on December 7^th to tell me the tumor was malignant. By December 21^st, I’d met with my full team of surgeon, oncologist and radiologist at MD Anderson.

In just over one month, February 2^nd, they’d cut the stinkin’ tumor out.

Then, this month, 23 radiation visits at 7:30 am from March 1^st to March 31^st. I finish right before Easter. I’ll be ringing the bell well before our June summer vacation that I planned LAST SUMMER with no idea of what was ahead.

The two hurricanes that would smash the family farm.

COVID classrooms.

Cancer.

Actual COVID hitting everyone in our house but me.

An apocalyptic winter storm.

We had no idea when we clicked “reserve” on a big house on the water in Bar Harbor, Maine what a gift that time away would be. What a celebration of life and God’s mercies.

Two more days.

Day 9 – No Chemo

March 11, 2021 by Gindi 2 Comments

The punchline to today’s post is I do not need to go through chemotherapy.

This is an enormous blessing and answer to prayer. So many of my breast cancer warrior friends had to face chemo for months.

I am very grateful.

But today was hard in its own way. And I’m very tired.

I spent the afternoon at the main MD Anderson campus (I’ve been able to go to the smaller west campus for radiation).

I received the great news that my genomic testing assigned a very low number to my cancer which means chemotherapy would not help recurrence at all. Thrilled for that last piece I’d been waiting on.

My oncologist also gave me news about my menopause status (which I won’t get into), but now I know what medicine I will start at the end of radiation. When radiation ends this month, I start tamoxifen. Then, a couple of years later, I will likely switch to a different type of medicine. In all, I take the pills every day for five years.

This, combined with my lumpectomy and radiation, puts me at no greater risk of more breast cancer than anyone else.

I’ll have another mammogram in 6 months when I do follow ups with my oncologist and radiologist. Those will permanently be moved to MD Anderson which gives me great comfort.

But then, the rest of the day was rough. I had to go through a second radiation simulation. I had a young student who was pretty rough with me on the machine. They have to compress your breast under a plastic board which is fairly painful when your breast is burned from radiation. Then they mark all over your breast, more, to depict where the “booster” radiation will go, starting in 10 days.

If you are going through cancer, this is just another time you have to advocate for yourself. They were going to tape right over my central breast where the burns and pain are the worst. I said NO. I let the techs know I would take it up with my doctor, but I absolutely could not have tape over an area in pain and in desperate need of regular moisture.

It worked. I got out of there without more tape all over my burns. (There’s markers and tape all over the rest of my chest.)

In my meeting with the radiologist, she said, “you are pinker than most patients at this stage of radiation.” This means my burns have hit earlier. I had been praying the reverse would be true. It becomes super important to protect my skin so it stays on. She gave me Mepilex sheets for daytime and magic cool sheets for nighttime. I really like her and her team and am thankful they are being proactive to get me over the finish line.

She also noted that because my breasts are so dense (this is the struggle that has caused so many ultrasounds over the years), the compression may not help for the booster. The seed area they are trying to “super radiate” is deep and my breasts are dense. It could mean I have a little wider area of radiation than we’d hoped just to get to it.

Between the rough simulation and less than happy news coming from radiology, I left near tears again. I’ve decided end of week is really hard for me. I should have left overjoyed at the answer to prayer about chemo, and I am so so thankful, but I felt overwhelmed all over again.

Then last night, I read a post from Jen Hatmaker who has recently gone through a very painful divorce: Dear ones, some of you are sad right now, because you should be. You are feeling appropriate feelings about devastating things, because you are a normal, good person with a normal good heart. There is nothing wrong with you. You should be more concerned if you were skipping right into your next season with nary a care or tear. We feel it now, or it will come roaring out later, ruining every good thing in its path. Grief requires our attention, and we should give it with great care…

She’s right. This is advice I would give any one of my friends. So I gave myself permission to grieve. You can have joy and sadness together. That’s life.

So if you are in the middle of good and hard right now, you are allowed to celebrate the good while grieving the hard. It doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you human.

Happy weekend friends.