Feeling better...

I want to say Thank You to all who left kind and helpful comments on my last post.  First, let me say... it is immensely helpful to hear of others' experiences.  At a minimum, it is validating, but there were some truly helpful things offered up.  I have such kind and thoughtful commenters.

While it is surely clear to anyone visiting my blog on a regular basis, that I'm no stranger to overthinking, I've come to realize that what I've been recently experiencing wasn't/isn't that.  Or isn't simply that.  I'm pleased to say that I am feeling better for longer stretches of time over the last week, and I think that is true for several reasons. 

First of all, I have some really great people in my life.  People who evidently do, sometimes, ask me how I'm doing.  One friend spontaneously did just that days after I published last week's post.  

The two of us were leaving an event, and the encounter wasn't long.  But it was private-ish and allowed for a bit of a conversation.  While I didn't elaborate to her all the various unsettling memories I had been dealing with, the one thing I did share received a response that was so validating, it was almost instantly healing.  My friend's response was like fresh air and light on a recently reopened wound that I had been trying (unsuccessfully) to just "get over".  

She didn't rationalize away the situation in which the wound was inflicted.  She also didn't demonize the one whose words had cut me to the quick.  All she did was see the wound for what it was and entered into my hurt for a few moments.  And she gave me a hug.  

To be clear, I know the wound hadn't been intentional.  I'm sure the one who inflicted it has no idea the damage that was done in her few words that took all of 5 seconds to say.  I'm pretty sure, if I were to write out the situation here, most people wouldn't give the exchange a second thought. In fact, I'm not sure if I hadn't been in the fragile state I was at the time (going into surgery to remove my infected port), that I would even appreciate how careless were the words that were spoken - in this case by a doctor.  It wasn't until I had permission to see my wound as valid and without trying to rationalize it away, that the shackles around that particular memory started to crumble and fall away.  And amazingly, my painful thoughts surrounding other more justifiably haunting experiences have eased - almost completely it seems.  At least for the moment.  I think, perhaps, I just needed the freedom to see my haunts without justifying/excusing why they happened in the first place.  

This experience has led me to the following thoughts - most of which I've added after publication, unfortunately, but here goes...

I'm sure this isn't the first time I've experienced this kind of healing of my emotions, but it was so profound this time, I hope I am forever changed by it.  While I think I've understood the importance of validating others' thoughts and feelings (I wrote about it in my last post), I am also prone (as many of us are, I have learned) to want to help the other person see the various sides of a situation.  I think what we're trying to do is help the hurting person's rational brain see that they don't have to suffer all the bad feelings and thoughts they may be caught up in.  

Being on the receiving end of that kind of "help", though, a few times over the last year, I now understand just how unhelpful rationalizing and advice-giving responses usually are.  And, here's why I've come to that conclusion...  

I suspect that many of us attempt to rationalize away our painful experiences. I have no idea if it's actually rational to rationalize this stuff, but for me, it's often a first-line coping mechanism.  When it happens naturally, I don't know that it's an unhealthy thing to do.  But most good things, when taken to an extreme can become very unhealthy.  A, perhaps overly simple, example:  Overlooking an offense is good, but being a doormat leads to an unhealthy mental state, and possibly abuse.

If it is a natural inclination to rationalize our painful experiences, we certainly don't need someone else to offer the same (or other) rationalizations to our already cluttered and pained minds.  

I don't know about you, but when someone does that in response to something difficult I've shared, I immediately wish I hadn't made myself vulnerable. And I learn, going forward, to be guarded.  Of course, we should be careful who we share vulnerable things with, but if we are so guarded that we ultimately decide it's safer to stuff our feelings down, instead of finding appropriate ways of airing them, the results can be unhealthy.  Toxic, even.  We may never really heal if we don't examine our painful emotions and what has brought them about.

The more helpful response we can offer to someone stuck in painful thinking, I now believe, is something that might break an unhealthy rationalizing pattern or loop a hurting person may be stuck in.  

While someone stuck in painful thinking might need professional help to truly become healthy-minded, when we're in the position of someone having shared a painful experience with us, a likely helpful first-line response is to simply validate their feelings.  Saying a sincere, "I'm sorry that happened" would probably suffice.  Enter into the pain, if I can, or just simply acknowledge it, rather than try to reshape their perception of the experience.  Entering into a person's pain most likely will make them feel better, at least in the moment.  When they feel better, they'll probably be able to think better, and will be in a better position to eventually (or maybe instantly) see the experience that caused the wound with a clearer head.  For me, clarity almost always helps my emotions heal.  

Disclaimer:  I am not a psychologist.  Not even a good armchair one.  But I am interested in learning from experience, and really do want to offer the right kind of help when someone else is struggling.  This present experience has helped me internalize, and I think see something I didn't understand before.

The only significant things that have happened in the 9 days since my last post is the above encounter, a lovely visit with another dear friend, and I've had the last appointment in my recent string of medical appointments - which seemed to be the catalyst for my recent struggling.  I feel better just having all those appointments behind me as of last Thursday.  I should add, it was also helpful when I shared that I'd been having troubling thoughts over the last few months, my oncology nurse navigator told me that was very normal.  I was pretty sure that, as dysregulated as my thinking was, I was in the range of normal, but it was helpful to hear someone with experience in this realm to tell me so.

I've also come across some things online that remind me that I have tools (mainly writing) to use to examine, dissect and treat the other painful thoughts should they rise up again to haunt me.  Just being reminded I have these tools available, and that they have been helpful to me in the past, has given me an even greater sense of well being.

If you got this far, you're the best!  Thanks for sticking with me.  

Still here...

I haven't gone anywhere.  

In fact, I wrote this post a few days ago and I've been considering whether I want to actually publish it.  I've finally decided to do it, and hope some good can come from it.  

A couple of weeks ago I wrote a post titled "Ruminations and Risk Taking".  At the time my use of the word "ruminations" was simply to mean contemplations - of any sort.  At the time I wrote that, I was enjoying being outdoors, soaking in the sun, and listening to birdsong, just contemplating life, and being thankful that I was rebuilding my strength, and getting on with life.  There was some heavy stuff on my mind, but my feeling then was that all was mostly well.  And it was.  And still is, for that matter.  But recently, I've come to realize that there has been a fair amount of negative ruminating going on, too. 

In recent weeks, my brain has been revisiting stuff I'd rather not think about (explanation as to why, in a minute), but it wasn't until the third or fourth time over the last few weeks that I heard myself monologuing to my husband for 10-15 minutes at a time, reviewing (ruminating out loud about) stuff from last year - some things he already knew, some things I had never told him - I realized that I am dealing with a load of unresolved stuff that happened during the diagnostic stage of my cancer experience.  Yes, I know that was an insane run-on sentence, but I'm leaving it as is.  Welcome to my brain right now.

Last week, when I once again heard myself telling my husband something awful from last year, I stopped myself mid-sentence wondering, "Why am I doing this again?!?"  And as soon as I asked the question, I knew the answer!

Since mid-May, I've begun a series of follow-up appointments with doctors.  I had my second appointment with the endocrinologist (who works out of a different cancer center than I visited last year) to discuss results of tests she had me do.   A few days later I had my first six-month follow-up with my oncologist to discuss the ongoing endocrine therapy he has me on.  Earlier this week, I had a follow-up MRI (unrelated to breast cancer, and that came back clean - yay!)  Next week I have my annual follow-up visit with the surgeon who removed my cancer.  And, I guess, just because I was on a roll making medical appointments, I had scheduled my "Welcome to Medicare" appointment with my GP for last week.  Whew!  

All these appointments have been as good as they can be (and I anticipate next week's follow-up with my surgeon will go fine enough), but being pulled back into the world of cancer treatment, and walking back into two different cancer centers several times now in two months has caused me to revisit the trauma that happened during all the diagnostic tests a year ago.  

With a few unpleasant exceptions, most of the staff I encountered last year were the nicest and kindest medical people I've ever been treated by.  At the same time, the tests they ran me through were among the worst things I've ever experienced to date.  Truly - the stuff of nightmares. In recent weeks, I was only able to sleep for four or five hours a night.  Sometimes, not able to fall asleep until the sun came back up.  Weirdly, I was functioning fine (in spite of little sleep and a brain on overload), but there was (and maybe still is to some extent) a cloud following me around for weeks now.  And I finally called it out.  I think it's just plain old unresolved trauma. 

I'm not sure where I go with these thoughts from here - I'm pretty sure I'll figure it out, or time will resolve it, or I will find help if I need to.  But for now, somehow, calling out what's been going on with me helps me feel better.  I'm happy to say I've been sleeping somewhat better.  

And while I'm sparing you the details of the things that try to trouble me, I hope my sharing this much is helpful to someone possible going through their own "ruminating" over hard things that don't seem to have any resolution.  

As for myself, I'm sure there's value in just getting this off my chest. To give air and light to unwelcome thoughts and make them less powerful.  And to document this experience for myself.

Maybe you know someone who has experienced some sort of trauma or difficulty in the recent past, and while they look just fine on the outside - in fact, they may be very fine, life might be great - they also may have dark, troubling thoughts from time to time.  While no one wants that kind of thing to go on forever, I'm pretty sure it's normal to experience this kind of thing after any sort of trauma.

If you, personally, know someone in such shoes, don't be afraid to ask them how they're doing.  They probably won't be expecting it, and they may not know what to say.  But they will appreciate that you asked.  

And if they talk...

Just listen.  

Validate them - listening without giving advice is priceless

Appreciate their vulnerability. 

It may just mean the world to them.

And if they don't want to open up, that's okay too.  Or maybe they're feeling on top of the world at that moment - they'll tell you if they are.  Celebrate with them.

It will mean a great deal that you asked.

Spirea in bloom in May.

Ruminations and risk taking...

Planting vegetables in the garden and harvesting fruit this spring has brought out the contemplative me.  I suspect that just being outside for hours, working the soil, planting seeds and transplants, all the while hearing little else but bird song, makes everyone contemplative - which is reason enough to garden if you ask me, if one can do it.  If one wants to.  

I remember the previous two springs (after we moved to this property) providing similar contemplative opportunities, but for different reasons.   

Two springs ago, I planted most of a garden unencumbered by the knowledge I'd spend the entire Memorial weekend nauseous and in some serious discomfort.  After three days and nights of that, I finally conceded defeat and asked Greg to take me to the ER, which resulted in an emergency gall bladder surgery the next morning.  That surgery (and recovery) was a bit more involved than anyone expected it to be, but within a couple of weeks I was feeling good enough to finish planting the garden.  As I held my mid section, bending over to put seeds in the ground, even I questioned if that was the smartest thing to be doing.  But the desire to plant our first vegetable garden at our new home was compelling. 

Last spring was different.  In late April and May, I knew some of what loomed ahead, and I needed something to distract me from worrying about what was still unknown.  With the optimism of an early caught cancer diagnosis, I threw myself into activities that left me physically spent most nights.  In May, Greg and I worked together on cleaning up some landscaping that was still lingering from the summer before.  Youngest son lent a hand on that Memorial weekend helping us finish up the job..  After all that work, I decided I wanted to till the garden, enlarging the space by a foot or so on three sides.  

I planted a few vegetables, but mostly I planted the garden with flower seeds.  While I didn't know everything that was ahead, I anticipated that I'd not likely be capable of lifting a heavy canner come August to preserve tomatoes or pickles or green beans.  But tending flowers seemed like a lovely thing to do as I healed from surgery.

With the flower garden put in, in the early weeks of June, we ate, gave away and froze lots of strawberries.  I think I might have picked the last of the strawberries the day before my surgery.  The night before surgery, I couldn't sleep, so I stayed up and sewed a pillow to protect my chest during the weeks of healing when I had to ride in a car and use a seatbelt.  Why I waited until the night before surgery to make it, I haven't a clue - except that I can be a world-class procrastinator at times. 

Having all these things to do was a gift. And having that pillow served me well for the rest of the summer as my chest healed.  

Headed home the day after surgery. 

My smile, I'm sure, can be attributed to still enjoying the benefits of a pain block.

While in the spring of 2023 I was wise enough to know I wouldn't be up to picking and preserving vegetables come late summer, I did imagine myself visiting the garden that summer and cutting fresh flowers.  I envisioned bestowing bouquets on anybody who might need encouragement that year.  It seemed like an antidote of sorts to facing my own scary stuff.  Funny how things turn out sometimes.  Nothing of any consequence ended up growing in the garden last summer. Not one single flower. But I was blessed weekly with fresh flowers from friends and family.  The whole experience has inspired me to plant flowers again, but this time there will hopefully be an abundance of veggies to pick in July and August, too. 

In all the outside work this spring, the thing that has been on my mind most is my recent diagnosis of osteoporosis of the spine.

Since last November, I have educated myself on the topic - to the point of annoying at least few people, I'm sure.  And this month I met for the second time with an endocrinologist and my oncologist, and have been making some changes that will, hopefully, minimize further bone loss.  We'll see this coming November when I get second DEXA scan.  Am I worried about what the results of that scan will be?  Yes. A bit.  Am I trying to live like I'm not worried about it?  Yes, because in addition to being an incredible procrastinator, I'm am also world-class compartmentalizer. 

But I'm not living in denial.  While I try to discipline myself to focus more on safe (and frankly, healthy) postures, I also try not to worry that some of the positions a gardener naturally gets into are not recommended for persons who have osteoporosis.  All my medical peeps were pleased to hear I'm enjoying gardening this spring, but interestingly, no one talked about being careful doing it.  Can I just say again how seriously thankful I am for the internet and all the resources available to us today.

A year ago, I was pleased (no, I was actually pretty proud) that I could still bend forward and touch my toes with little effort.  I still can, but my pride is all but shriveled up now knowing that this is not a recommended thing to do if one has osteoporosis in the spine.  This spring, as I've bent over to pick strawberries (which is the most comfortable position for me), I consider over and over again the gamble I am taking rounding my back for that task.  At this point, the last of the strawberries have been picked, and I've managed to not hurt myself, so I have another year at least before I need to think about that specific task again.  

Coming through all that last year held, I've come to recognize that all of life is a gamble.  On some level we all know our choices come with risks, but most of us don't count the costs of the risks we take on a daily basis.  We give little thought to the potential bad outcomes of our choices.  We go happily through our days with no worries or even thoughts about what is going on inside our cells, our bones, our vital organs.  As long as one can live that way, I consider it gloriously good to embrace it.  Even being more aware of the gambles I take, I consider it good to live life as free as possible from worry about all the "what ifs". 

While I now live with a greater awareness of the gambles I regularly take (in this context, the positions I get myself into), I try to not let that awareness worry me into being a scaredy cat.  

At the moment, I feel like I'm living in a middle land -  where the brain understands and sort of counts the costs, but the heart or the will hasn't quite figured out what do with the information that fires in my brain with every wrong move. Retraining myself into new postures for doing old activities, I think must involve a fair amount of synaptic activity before new ways of doing things become second nature. 

This is what's in my head this week.  Some loosely connected thoughts about osteoporosis, being relieved the strawberry picking has come to an end, glad the garden is in, and that I have a bit of a reprieve before anything else needs harvesting.

That reminds me... we have peaches this year!  I thinned them out a couple of weeks ago, and now they look like they'll be manageable - if they make it to ripeness without becoming bird or bug fodder.  

If they come a month early like the cherries did, I may be picking peaches in June, but I'm seriously hoping they wait 'till July.  While physically, I could do it, my brain is begging to recover from picking and processing strawberries and cherries at the same time this spring.

Until the peaches ripen, and the vegetable garden needs more attention, I'm contemplating what's next.  I'm assessing my need for more canning jars and lids, will soon go to work again on hopefully perfecting low or no-sugar jam, and I'm contemplating sewing some tops I recently bought fabric for.  

But first, this evening we have friends coming over with Chinese takeout.  I've been too pooped the last month to think about being hospitable, so tonight feels like a nice change of pace.  With the calendar turning to June tomorrow, it feels like a new beginning.

I love new beginnings...

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, 

this person is a new creation;

 the old things passed away; 

behold new things have come.

   - 2 Corinthians 5:17  (NASB)

Packing away the wig...

I can't believe the only pictures I have of me in my wig are a few selfies.  And I only took them to send to a couple of far away friends and my sisters.  I'm glad now I took them.

Exactly five weeks ago today I ditched my wig.  I finally had enough hair growth, that the wig I had worn since losing my hair to chemo was becoming uncomfortable.  It was getting itchy and I was surprised to find that as my hair grew, wearing a wig or even a soft stretchy hat started making my scalp hurt.  I think it's because the hats and wig were pushing my hair against its natural growth, and my short bristly hairs put up a fuss against the constant pressure.  

To make matters worse, the adhesive used to secure the wig to my head started making it painful to remove once it had a half-inch or so of hair to cling to.  Ouch!  To be clear, wig adhesive is closer to post-it-note adhesive than super glue, but after a few hours of wearing the wig, the adhesive clung to, and became matted into the hair. 

Also, having more hair made it messier to clean the adhesive off when I just wanted to take the wig off and go wigless at home.  A washcloth sufficed when I just needed to clean the adhesive off my scalp.  At some point of the hair growing back, it required a more serious washing off - if I took the time.  If I didn't clean if off well, my hair would stick to any hat I wanted to put on when I inevitably turned cold.  

It was an icky, uncomfortable predicament that I hadn't felt prepared for, but I accepted it as part of the process.  The last straw, though, was when my natural hairline started to compete with the wig's hairline.  Since my new-growing hair was too short to pull back, my only option was to pull the wig down and forward further in front to cover it - and use more adhesive to make it stay there.  All of that just felt weird, and made my wig all the more wiggy-feeling.

The uncomfortableness grew over the course of a few weeks until the fateful day when out-of-town friends were visiting and I decided to be brave and just not wear my wig that day.  At home, not wearing my wig was my normal so I didn't have to overcome that.  And these friends had never seen me in the wig, so I figured them seeing me without it wouldn't be as big a deal as I imagined it might be to my local peeps who I saw and interacted with often.  I thought about it for maybe two minutes, until I concluded our visitors were a very safe "first" for my coming out.  

Not only were they safe, but they were completely unfazed.  Relieved it was that easy, I still wasn't sure I was going to be brave enough to go out into the wild, and to church with such short hair.  But when it came time to, I did what I'd done through the whole body-altering ordeal of cancer surgery and recovery.  I put some earrings on, warmed up my smile, and acted like I'd always looked like this.  I had to practice what I told myself at the beginning of all of this.  I had to show that I was okay.  Then everyone else would follow suit. 

These short-hair pictures are taken today - after two hair trimmings a few weeks apart to clean up some straggly hair growth.  I think it was a bit shorter 5 weeks ago when my short hair made its debut.

Pretending I wasn't feeling it, but quelling my nervousness over showing up in public the first time in my super short hair, I was relieved (and on some level, entertained) at the response I got the next Sunday at church.  I think all the women, who were interested, knew I had been wearing a wig since I had been completely open about it,  They were so supportive - seeming to understand I could use all the encouragement I could get. 

What I didn't expect was when several men commented on liking my HAIRCUT.  To be fair, these were men with whom I'd had little to no interactions with while I was going through treatment, so they were, perhaps, clueless when they saw my short hair for the first time. I good-naturedly set them straight, but I did appreciate the kind words.  In the end, any nervousness I felt was unwarranted, and I am so glad I didn't wait any longer to set myself free from the wig. 

I feel the desire to say as I share these pictures, over the last year I feel I have grown pretty far past my insecurities of looking my age.  Our culture is (and probably most cultures are) brutal to women in regards to their looks.  Perhaps men feel it too, but I am not one so I cannot know what they feel.  As a woman, who has a fair amount of vanity, though not overly given to make-up or fashion trends, and let's be honest...  I've cut my own hair in a bob for the last 25 years! So seriously...  how vain could I be? Yep, I thought I had vanity fairly well contained.  Well...after surgery, losing my hair, spending a week in the hospital (for the most part in a hospital gown) all the while dealing with tiny shedding hairs left over from being newly shorn, now taking a medicine that messes with my metabolism (which is already screwed up, to be completely honest here), and finally signing up for Medicare last week (lol)...  I'm here to tell you, vanity somehow still exists for this old broad.  I am not cured, but the best antidote I have found is to have a sense of humor about it all.  And to be thankful for life and all its variety.  The more we love people, the more lovely we all are.

~~~~~

The day I stopped wearing the wig felt like Independence Day, and I've never been tempted to put it back on since.  I've kept it on its stand all this time - just in case, but I've finally concluded it's time to wash it and store it away in its box until I decide what to do with it.  I feel like there should be a ceremony or something...

For now I'm hanging onto my wig because, while I don't spend time seriously contemplating the idea of cancer coming back, it's pretty impossible to not have a niggle of that thought go through one's mind from time to time.  Taking a daily pill to hopefully keep cancer from recurring is a continual reminder that it can return anytime it pleases.

I am fortunate to not feel plagued by worry about recurrence, and I'll say I'm very thankful that so far I am not having any bad side effects from the ongoing endocrine therapy. While I am certainly not emotionless, at the end of the day I am a pragmatist, and, for now, I accept the odds - which is not too hard since the odds are in my favor.

It's funny to me that while I felt little emotion as I lost my hair to chemo (mostly, I felt fascinated, to be honest), the relief I have felt seeing it grow back has made me almost giddy at times.  That said, I think I'm wearing it short short at least through the summer.  I'm loving feeling the wind blow through my hair and it hardly getting mussed up.  And getting ready in the morning is super fast.  I could live with that perk the rest of my life!

~~~~~

I want to say that this experience has opened my eyes and bent my heart to an issue I was largely unaware of before going through it.  I do not even pretend to understand what it feels like to have permanent alopecia, and I am aware that to someone reading this who does suffer from this condition, my words here may feel, on some level, thoughtless.  I am not so obtuse to not recognize that my being giddy over my hair growing back may seem frivolous to one who holds no expectation or hope for that.

And maybe more importantly than saying that, I want to say this:  While I benefitted last year from videos of women talking about their cancer/treatment experiences, it was videos of women who have alopecia who helped me most with coming to terms with submitting to a medication (and continue to take medication) that can cause permanent hair thinning and loss.  Some chemotherapies can and do cause permanent hair loss.  I had no idea of that before all of this.  While I never had a very thick head of hair previously, I had taken hair very much for granted.  While I am thoroughly enjoying my hair growing back, I hope I remain changed by this experience.  I am grateful for women brave enough to talk about such a scary condition.  And to give of themselves so generously as women search for answers, and helps for their hair loss.  To show the world that there is joyful, satisfying life in the midst of such a personal challenge is a gift to women.  I am grateful. 

Enjoying Ben's company on Easter Eve.

A few days after publishing this post, I replaced the picture I originally placed here with a much better one.  I love this picture of me with youngest son.   

What's in the old noggin today...

I've started this post several times in the last few days.  I have so much swimming in my head, every time I sit down to write, way too much starts spilling out.  This is just an introduction to what I've been mulling over recently.  Over the last month or so I've been immersing myself in researching how to manage and possibly improve osteoporosis.  

In November, I mentioned receiving a diagnosis of osteoporosis [OP] in a section of my spine after my first ever DEXA scan.   Having any amount of OP is hard news, and I didn't see it coming at all.  Then it felt like a double sucker punch to learn on the heels of an OP diagnosis that the aromatase inhibitor (endocrine therapy) I've been placed on for 5-7 years is known to diminish bone density.   

An aromatase inhibitor [AI] is prescribed to reduce risk of breast cancer recurrence - which is great, but sacrificing ones bones to reduce the risk of cancer recurrence seems an awfully steep price to pay.   "Not to worry", the doctor says, "there are medicines for osteoporosis too!"  Aside from the fact that OP drugs have some worrisome side effects, managing medicines that manage the effects of other medicines is not how I want to spend my "golden years" - if I can help it.  

I will meet with an endocrinologist in the spring, to see what she has to say.  On one hand I'm glad to have this appointment on the calendar, but on the other hand, I'm not thrilled with the drugs that will undoubtedly be recommended to me.   For now, I'm doing what I can do - in terms of making some lifestyle changes, and increasing my understanding of how exercise, nutrition, and yes...  possibly even drugs, may be used to get me to a better place with my bones.  

Since doctors don't have time to explain everything a patient needs to know in order to make a truly informed decision about treatment, I suspect the internet becomes a main source of information for a lot of us.  While the internet is a marvelous thing, it is not without its problems.  I am, first of all, very wary of anyone and everyone who has a YouTube channel and claims to be an expert.  It's an interesting time to live in.  So much information at our fingertips that we can avail ourselves of to improve our lives, but at the same time, the danger is great of falling prey to cyber snake oil salesmen and women.   Or following poor advice from well meaning and good people.  

I'm grateful for the people who share their experiences, and even medical expertise, online, but I try to be smart about consuming what is out there for the taking.  I research (or at least attempt to research) further anything that catches my attention and sounds like it might be helpful.  The internet was very helpful to me last year during the diagnosis and treatment of breast cancer.  It allowed me to dive deeper, to understand and trust the procedures done and treatments I received.  I'm hoping it will benefit me in this present situation, too  

I have found it helpful and rather amazing that the internet puts at our fingertips digital libraries of trials and research studies.  Even individual case studies can be enlightening.  We joke about consulting Dr. Google, but seriously...  Google is a powerful tool that, while it can drive a person insane with too much information, it can often help a person discover a solution to a difficult problem. 

Mostly, the internet has served me well.  Recently I stumbled on information that compelled me to approach my oncologist (just this past Monday) and ask him if a different endocrine therapy - that may actually help bone density - could be an option for me.  While he prefers an aromatase inhibitor for me, and frankly, I would too if it weren't for the bone density issue, he was agreeable to me trying the other (older) therapy.   In fact, in the notes of the encounter, was written that this switch was reasonable in light of the recent discovery of OP.  The older SERM therapy (in this case, Tamoxifen) is still widely used, and is considered great therapy for reducing breast cancer recurrence in pre-menopausal women, but aromatase inhibitors  have become the preferred therapy for post-menopausal women because AI's are a bit more effective, and they hold fewer potentially dangerous side effects for older women.

Having weighed the possibility of a terrible side effect of using SERM therapy with the pretty much guaranteed loss of bone density with AI's, switching to an endocrine therapy that won't harm my bones feels like a reasonable trade off.  And I can relax in the worry department while I wait for my endo appointment, and use my time and energy more productively, namely focusing on nutrition and exercise.   

It's possible (maybe) that the endocrinologist will ease my fears of osteoporosis medicine - even though I, personally, have big reason to be more concerned than maybe the average person does about one potential side effect in particular:  Osteonecrosis of the Jaw [ONJ].  It's not helpful to read that ONJ may be considered a rare occurrence if you fall into a category that makes you more likely to experience it.  I see my dentist later this week.  I will be interested to see what he has to say about it.  

For now, I'm relaxing into the relief I'm feeling because my oncologist heard and responded to my concern. And I feel empowered and motivated to continue to try to improve my situation, rather than helpless and rather hopeless like I was feeling about it over the last few weeks.

This week, I'm watching some of the presentations in a temporarily free online summit called Natural Approaches to Osteoporosis and Bone Health.  It has been interesting.  [I've removed most of the paragraph I wrote about accessing the free Summit because that is not pertinent at this point.]

I'm finding some of the presentations interesting, and oddly...  one of the main presenters, who recognizes the potential pitfalls of osteoporosis drugs, gave me insight and hope that this kind of drug may be safe enough for me to feel comfortable using for a short term.  It gives me something to discuss with the endo, at least.

Thanks for entering into my brain again.  Sometimes I just need to do a dump of all that's swimming around in there.  Though, to be sure...  this was more like a dribbly overflow of all that's sloshing around in my head at the moment.

Things are returning to normal around here...

So... in my last post I thought I was returning to normal.  That was a false start.  I went downhill for a few weeks after pronouncing I felt almost normal.  Turns out, with a fast and unexpected downturn, it's taken about 5 weeks after my 4th chemo infusion to approach the level of energy and stamina I had reached by Day 10 of my first 3 chemo cycles.  I can't believe how knocked down I felt this time around.  Weak muscles everywhere.  No stamina for a week or two.  Breathing was too easily labored.  I don't mind admitting I got a little worried and depressed.  

While I've developed a cough that keeps hanging around, x-rays last week show my lungs are clear, so I'm trusting it eventually goes away.   While normal will, no doubt, be something different than before surgery and chemo, I am getting back to some semblance of it.  I've become motivated to grocery shop and cook again, and it helps greatly that my tastebuds have started to work again.  Not perfectly, yet, but food has ceased being one of the biggest disappointments of my days.

While I didn't feel good enough for most of the first half of autumn to truly enjoy it, I do know it's been a beauty this year.  Our trees have, a few at a time, all turned gorgeous colors in recent weeks, and the hanger-on-ers will likely drop most of their leaves by Thanksgiving.

The most beautiful of our late shedders

I'm still at a spot where there is so much more I could write about what's going on with my health, but after this post, I think I will have reached a point in this journey where I won't necessarily want to put it out there for public consumption.  I know...  considering what I have put out there, it may seem a little late for that.  I don't like to present a picture online that may look rosier than it is, but if I'm at least this honest in this post with those of you who've followed along in recent months, I think I'll feel like I'm being "real enough" right now.  Not that there are rules about this sort of thing.  My blog, my rules.  These posts have truly been mostly for my benefit, and as some kind of record after time passes and I will have forgotten much of it.

I will have follow-ups with my oncology doctors for several years to come, and it appears my GP is following along via a patient portal with great interest.  I heard from her earlier this week, in fact, when as of last week I had my first DEXA scan. 

I'm not sure if these are routinely ordered for cancer patients (under age 65), but because my doctor wants me to go on endocrine therapy via an Aromatase Inhibitor, and AI's are known to affect bone mass, a bone density test was ordered to find out what my baseline is.  I'm not at all comfortable with the news that I'm running at a deficit in that department, and I now need to add dealing with osteoporosis to my bag of tricks.  After spending a few days worrying that every little discomfort in my back is my spine ready to crack in two (or a hundred) pieces, I've decided one cannot live like that.  While I'm learning how to hopefully preserve what bone mass I have, and hope beyond hope I may actually be able to improve things, I've decided I kind of have to live and move like I'd never read the O-word on my report.  That is a challenge. Of course, I can't live like it doesn't exist, but I can't live in fear of it, I've finally concluded.  More easily said than done, but...  well...  at least I've said it.

I'm holding off until after Thanksgiving to start popping that powerful little daily AI pill.  I may or may not report side effects of that therapy.  Honestly, the reason I may not share a lot more about all of this is I don't want to attract unsolicited advice from anyone who doesn't have the complete picture for a subject that is complicated and in some cases (I have learned) is controversial. Living in the age of the internet and YouTube influencers is both a blessing and a burden.  Too many people think they are an expert on something that very few people truly are - even the experts, I fear.

I wrote about this weeks ago, but I am now entering the stage of treatment that many women who've dealt with breast cancer have to traverse mostly alone (under the care of their doctors).  I will be living my life more normally, and engaging more publicly in my social circles than I have for the last five months, but there will be a quiet, private work happening outside of the purview of most people I engage with.   It is the stage that I started dreading a month ago, and it is here.  This is new territory for me.  While the introvert in me has always appreciated keeping a "private life", I've not had any big secrets either - certainly, not where it comes to my health. I'm pretty much "what you see is what you get".  Or so I thought.  Frankly, I haven't felt like there's been much to see until recently, thank goodness.

Ah well...  we all march on with growing older, don't we.  As matter-of-fact as that is, this is not a reality I seriously ever imagined maneuvering.  Which is silly when I think about it.  I mean, we all hope to grow old, and while some of us do a better job preparing our bodies to face things that are common as we grow older, who of us actually prepares our minds, and is psychologically prepared for the myriad things we may have to maneuver as we go through our senior years?  As someone who has often thought I operate with a decent amount of mental clarity, I don't feel particularly mentally prepared for this - except for my superpower of compartmentalizing when it suits me.  

I have a feeling now that skill is only going to get me so far.

I really hope this place I'm in in my mind is a phase.  Hopefully, in a few months I'll have made changes that need to happen, a new normal will emerge, and maybe I won't be so consumed by these kinds of thoughts.  I'll get on with life.  Will continue healing from my surgery earlier this year, and will just get on with doing the things I need to do.  I guess I've already started doing that.

And hopefully, there will be plenty of fun (maybe even interesting) stuff to share here.

Having felt a bit of a loss recently when it comes to blogging, I've been thinking about what to do to spark some mojo in that department.  Maybe I'll try posting daily in December.  Maybe I'll challenge myself in a way I'm willing to share here.  Meanwhile, I'm enjoying catching up with my bloggy friends, and seeing what motivates and sparks creativity in you all.   If you got this far, thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading.  And thank you all for the encouragement you've sent my way.  I am grateful.

Just for fun, here's a photo of me and my two older sisters (taken in our living room) that was recently circulated on a family Facebook page that Greg has been posting lots of photos to:

While it isn't a particularly good picture, it sure shows well the time frame (probably 1964) and evokes a lot of nostalgia for me.  I'm sure at the time I loved wearing the same dress as my big sisters.  That seemed to be a thing back then.

Day 10...

For each of my chemo rounds, I kept a daily journal of my symptoms as I progressed through the days following the infusion.  I did it the first time at the suggestion of my oncologist's nurse.   It was helpful for them because knowing what my symptoms were, they had ideas on how to minimize them in the next rounds.  I applied their ideas, and they helped.  My oncology nurse also told me that many times people's bodies adapt to the chemo, and the first round is the worst.  I will say that was true for me - whether it was my body adapting, or me applying their suggestions for my symptoms, or both.  While none of the symptoms were pleasant or exactly easy, none were as bad as they were the first time around.

When my second round of chemo came around, I distinctly remember looking back at my account of Round 1 and noticed I stopped writing anything after Day 9.  Wondering why I would do that, I made a mental note to keep going with it for the full 21 days.   

And then I got to Day 10 on the second round and I realized I felt practically normal, and there really wasn't anything to write.   I was no longer taking any medicines to counteract symptoms because the worst of the symptoms had pretty completely passed at that point.  What a relief that was.  It made the next two sessions loom much less large in my mind.  Not that it was nothing, but my chemo protocol and side effects weren't as terrible as I imagined it all would be.

Today is Day 10 of my last round.  I'm happy to say I once again feel practically normal, except for some fatigue.  Well... and the fact that I had a minor mishap a week ago which led to a finger getting infected this week, so now I'm on an antibiotic for that.  It's not that the mishap was significant, but rather that my immunity is so compromised that my finger developed an infection.  Under normal circumstances, an infection wouldn't have set in, I'm positive.  Mostly that has been an annoyance, but within 24 hours, the antibiotic has started helping my finger feel less sore, so I'm hopeful that will soon be history too.

I mentioned in an earlier post that some motivation for creative activities has returned.  I'm happy to say the feeling is staying with me.  Here are just some random things I've been doing as the spirit strikes:

Knitting fresh dishcloths in fall colors makes me happy.

Stitching on my Quaker sampler continued.

Zentangling the cover of a birthday card 

for youngest son made him smile.

Collecting slow drawing "inchies"

They're actually 2 inch squares.

Auditioning some fabrics for a scrappy autumn stitch

And starting a collection of fabric yo-yo's

 for future slow-stitching projects

None of it is exactly impressive, but it's satisfying to see I at least kept my hands busy during so much down time in recent weeks.

A beautiful autumn is settling in here in central Indiana.  I hope you're enjoying whatever the season brings you.

Ringing out of chemo...

No matter how many chemo treatments you go through, when you finish you have the opportunity to "Ring the Bell" in celebration.

It's a weird place to be in one's mind - to be both thrilled that the last treatment is behind, and at the same time a little apprehensive knowing some uncomfortable days are ahead before truly being on the other side.

From my experience, counting infusion day as Day 1, at the end of 6 days I'll have passed through the worst of the chemo side effects, and in 10 days I'll be feeling pretty much normal.  Day 10 or 11, I have felt good enough and motivated enough to go grocery shopping and start cooking in earnest.  Unfortunately, the taste buds still find food a serious disappointment, and I was told today getting them back could take a few months, but at least the motivation to cook always returns for me sometime in the second week post treatment. 

I asked my oncologist for a month's reprieve before starting endocrine therapy - which will last 5-7 years if it goes well.  It is a typical treatment suggested to breast cancer patients who have hormone-positive tumors.  He was very agreeable to my desire to enjoy the rest of my autumn with (hopefully) no sick days.  

I have a DEXA scan scheduled for a few weeks from now, and a follow-up regarding that.  I'm not looking forward to facing down the possible side effects of taking a daily pill, the purpose of which is to rid my 64-year-old body of any shred of estrogen that may be lurking still, or is hoping to yet be produced.  But I feel incentivized by my onco-type test score to give it a good honest try.  My oncologist told me today that going through this chemo regimen, I've possibly knocked down my chance of recurrence by 11-15%.  That doesn't seem like much, but with an onco-type score that indicated I had a 22% chance of breast cancer recurrence without chemo, I'm pretty okay with those odds.  I have to be.  I don't get to pick the odds.  I only get to pick what game(s) I'm willing to play in the cancer casino.  In the end, I hope for the best, but as we all ultimately do, I have to bravely face whatever comes once I've played my hand.  

You'd think I was a gambler with the way I talk these days.  Normal me is pretty averse to gambling in any form, but I suspect cancer - any big health scare, really - has a way of changing how a person sees life.  I won't be buying lottery tickets anytime soon, but I do see the rest of my days as (hopefully) choosing to play my smartest and best hand, knowing I have zero control over how the game turns out.  That is true for all of us, of course, but having your odds printed on a piece of paper, staring you down, profoundly changes one's perspective. 

While wrapping my mind around these things isn't exactly a pleasant thing to do, it's oddly freeing.  

All that said, I'm in a good place.  My cancer was caught at an early stage, even though every diagnostic test found more "cancer-y" stuff, I'm am thankful for where I am on the cancer continuum.

For the last few weeks this point in time has weighed heavy on my mind.  As of today, the visible part of my treatment is behind me.  The part that people have cheered me on through.  Once I'm feeling recovered from this final chemo treatment will begin the quiet, much more private work of continuing to heal from the mastectomy.  Continuing daily stretching and myofascial massage - for years.  My physical therapist tells me for the rest of my life.  And beginning endocrine therapy that holds risks to other parts of the body requires I care about that as well, so there will be work to do to combat (hopefully head off) those potential side effects...  And there is strength-building that my physical therapist encourages me to wait until the new year to start - that I will eventually need in order to more fully overcome weakness left over from surgery.  While I'm no longer in any serious pain, my body reminds me daily I am still healing from that.  So it's really not over.  It just goes on differently.  More privately,  except for me possibly sharing here from time to time.  This isn't a part of cancer that most people think about.  Why would they?  

There is a lot of talk about cancer patients being "warriors".  It's a nice sentiment, but honestly, I've never seen myself as a warrior in this.  Mostly I saw myself on a cancer conveyor belt - only occasionally having any real say in the matter - that is, if I wanted to go the modern medicine route.  Only realizing much later the moments I should have put have my foot down about something.  Like troubling myself with visiting a plastic surgeon before I knew what my real surgery options would end up being - I let myself be cowed into that one, by a scheduler, of all people.  At the time, everything was all so new I had no way of knowing that I'd, personally, regret not holding my ground on that one.  

Much of life is like that, though, isn't it.  Sometimes, it's only with experience that we can recognize more clearly the obvious moments we should have taken a stand.  Even though I've never been a very passive patient, it's just impossible to know everything going into such a daunting experience.  But boy, when you're thrown into the fire, you learn to learn quick.  Thanks to the internet, it's easy to tap into necessary and helpful information.  In short order you become something of an expert, and words and acronyms the average person is unfamiliar with, start to roll of the tongue in a seasoned way.

And then, suddenly it seems, I'm at the end of all that.  And at this point I've come to realize I'm really just an expert on me.  Like I was before this all began.  Next year (certainly within five, ten years), science will have introduced new things, and I'll be the commoner who doesn't know the lingo anymore. 

So yeah...  my head's been in a kind of weird place in the last few weeks.  A friend, who's had her own experience with cancer heard me out last night and said it sounds like I might be feeling at loose ends.  Yes!  Exactly.  I'm coming to the end of the "visible" treatment, that was as easy and as hard as staying on the conveyor belt and being told what test was next, when to show up, then considering the treatment options (which are tailored to you and your cancer, so really, the options are pretty few), but still feeling compelled to weigh it all carefully, until finally finding myself landed in a place where now I feel a bit cut loose.

In truth, my oncologist (and/or his nurse practitioner) are a phone call away, they told me today. I doubt that that is exactly true, but it felt nice to hear.  I will see my oncologist again in 4 months, and then every 3-6 months after that (whatever the need may be).  I've not found myself needing much handholding throughout this process, but it has felt good to see both of these people every 21 days for the last three months.  Maybe I'm just anticipating missing them.  

That sounds crazy when I actually say it, because those words have never crossed my lips ever, over any doctor.  But I think this is a normal feeling from things I read online.

Yep.  A bit at loose ends.  Needing to go through uncomfortable chemo side effects in the days ahead, and then I can move into getting stronger, healthier, trying to be the best I can be in my continued healing (my friend gave me that thought too).  But so much that is ahead is on me now.

It feels both freeing and weighty.

I'm all in because I have no choice.  That's what I said when I was going through all the other stuff, when someone would tell me I was "so brave".  So I guess not much has changed, really, when I think about it that way.  Maybe this next phase is actually where the warrior title is earned - in the battle fought largely away from the eyes of others.  Which, when I think about it, is where most people deal with their most challenging life's issues (be they health or other struggles).  So it's a common and reasonable place to be entering, I know.  We're all warriors in this life, really.  It's somehow a comforting thought to consider we all eventually face things bigger than ourselves.  Some people are brave enough to pick out their own big challenges in life.  Some of us dig deep and find what it takes to face the challenges thrust upon us.  I am ever grateful for a faith in God that keeps me grounded, or gets me back to grounded when thoughts and feelings go scattering into the wind.

This is me.  Whether or not you were hoping for an invitation, welcome to inside my brain today!  

Sweet flowers from Amy H that her daughter grew.

And a beautiful bouquet of zinnias and sunflowers 

from Mark & Peggy's garden.  

And my back door neighbor, Mary Ann, has surprised me 

with several hand-picked bouquets from her back yard.

Not a single seed I sowed last spring turned into a pickable flower, so I have delighted in the many flowers others have bestowed on me this summer and autumn.  Amazingly, they were spaced out perfectly, allowing me to enjoy fresh blooms over many weeks.   

It's been wonderful!