Dec 5, 2015
I’ve been blessed to have such love and support in my
life…in those first few weeks when my friends and family and I were trying to
wrap our heads around what “triple negative breast canser” meant, and
next steps, and all the (terrifying) tests required, Kelly came into my life.
She came in as a bright light of hope, throwing me a
lifeline that helped to keep my head above water and we clung to each other
during one of the scariest times of our life. We texted all day long most days
going through treatment – esp. while going through chemo together. I finally
had someone who really understood what I was feeling. Someone who had the same
fears. Someone who made me feel not alone – a priceless gift when going through
something so terrifying. Someone who could talk me down and who I could in turn
talk down when our fears got the better of us. We each took turns being the
rock…and being the emotional mess.
Kelly played a huge role in getting me through those days.
Or hours. Or sometimes moments when I was paralysed with fear.
Navigating life after breast canser is tricky. It is often
downright scary. Although we don’t talk as much as we did then, she continues
to be my lifeline. The road after treatment has been more difficult in some
ways than going through treatment was. It’s been almost a year since treatment
ended, over 1.5 years since I was diagnosed, and still there are days, hours,
and moments that I struggle to get through.
Kelly is by no means my only “canser” support – I’ve met so
many amazing people on this road. I met a class full of women through BCSCF
that are strong, vibrant, amazing women. I’m part of the Rethink closed
Facebook group for young Canadian women who are going through or been through
breast canser. They have all been great for a larger network of support. But
sadly, not everyone’s story turns out with a happy ending. Some of these very
women who have lent support and/or advice have their cancer return. The dreaded
“mets” (meaning their original breast canser, has metastasised elsewhere in the
body and is now incurable…also known as terminal.) I don’t think I’ve met
anyone in the canser world who isn’t apprehensive of the canser returning. It’s
a fear/anxiety sadly you just need to figure out how to handle. I’m told it
gets easier with time.
However, when someone in the group gets mets – it’s a huge
trigger. Suddenly every twitch I feel might be canser lurking…headaches are
brain mets. Pain on my chest must be bone mets to my ribcage. Soreness, pain or
aches between my ribs and pelvic bone must be some kind of ovary/kidney/liver
mets. With my BRCA 1 status, I worry about new cansers like ovarian and
pancreatic. I know it must sound laughable. Delusional even. But it’s actually
really scary when this happens. The physical “symptoms” trigger my mind to go
to very dark places -I look at my kids and wonder if I’ll see them grow up. Get
married. Hold my grand kids. Many of the women in Rethink are young moms. Many
of them too had been declared “canser free” before discovering it back and spread.
They are not so different from me. I know people don’t want to hear about this
side of the coin, and I’m not trying to scare anyone but its part and parcel of
my life after breast canser. I just don’t talk about it.
Except to Kelly.
Hearing the heart wrenching stories also causes “survival”
guilt. I don’t wonder “why me” so much as “why not me”? That also sounds
ludicrous even to my own ears, but some of these moms have kids younger than
mine. It’s so unfair. canser really doesn’t discriminate. I don’t talk about
this either, cause I’m not sure everyone would understand.
Except Kelly.
And of course there’s the very worst thing…death.
People die. Young, vibrant moms with little babies die. They
are full of life and “fight” and are “pinked out”, and they still die. This is
the very worst trigger. My heart grieves every loss. The ones I don’t know
well, I still grieve. The ones I come to love and care about take part of my
heart with them when they are gone. It’s the very worst thing about my new
friends and support. Not everyone makes it. I have not been the same since
losing Sarah. I see updates on her kids and family and my heart breaks all over
again every time I hear about the struggles they continue to face since her
loss. I see my own kids. My own husband. My own family and friends. I don’t
ever want to be the cause of such grief to the people I love most.
In times when we lose a “sister”, or someone gets mets,
that’s usually when Kelly and I meet up. We chat. And then my heart is a little
less burdened. We grieve together. We talk out our fears. We try to put logic
and perspective to something that makes no sense. It doesn’t change it but it
makes it more bearable. Maybe it’s cause somehow this allows us to share the
load.
And that’s not to say any of my friends or family have been
any less supportive. It’s not more or less, it’s just different.
I guess what I’m trying to say is without Kelly I fear I
would have sunk into the abyss a long time ago. She is my constant in a world
that is constantly changing. She came into my life and has been an anchor
amidst the storm.
My mom has my back. She is behind me, pushing me forward,
supporting me in ways that only a mother can.
Phil is my protector. My cheerleader. As we navigate this
unknown path together, he is by my side, holding my hand.
And for that I'm forever grateful.
