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| Maple leaf |
*since diagnosis.
My last appointment at M. D. Anderson was in mid-November. I got a great report - no sign of cancer for the second year. And I do not have to be seen again by my oncologist until November of 2014. The bad news was that my oncologist, Dr. M., was leaving to take a research position in Chicago. Selfishly, I don't want her to go. I credit her with saving my life! I want to keep her around to keep the demons away! But, she explained that it was a good move for her family and that she originally set out to be in research. So, we hugged, I thanked her again and Dave and I wished her well. It won't be the same, you know, going back to MDA for visits now. But, I guess, all good things must come to an end.
Since June of this year, I finally starting feeling more like myself. Two full years from the date of my last chemo, my body shook off the residual effects and I began to recognize the old me. Sometimes the most mundane things become beautiful - like realizing you just walked every aisle of the grocery store, checked out, loaded and unloaded and put away the groceries AND you're not gasping for breath or anxiously looking for a place to sit before you fall.
There were days I thought I'd never, ever get over the toxic effects of chemo. But now, two and a half years later, I am pretty much back to my pre-cancer self. I suffer from lymphedema in my left arm which is aided by therapy (massage) and a compression sleeve. I still have neuropathy in all but my big toes on both feet. The lovely side effects of Tamoxifen are still weight gain, acne, joint pain and hot flashes. But when I asked Dr. M if we could cut this lovely dance with the estrogen blocker short - say, about NOW - her response was immediate: "Hell no!" So, three more years of Tamoxifen before I'm home free.
Psychologically, the effects of cancer and its treatment have been more substantial than I imagined they might be. Not only did I suffer the effects of "chemo brain" (loss of concentration, a "dulling" of the senses, the inability to multi-task, and loss of motivation), I can only describe the rest of it as having a broken compass. I have been completely without direction. Now, the fog has lifted, I am able to be excited about projects and the future again and I am starting to sense the wind in my sails again.
I have no idea what the future holds -- but neither does anyone else. No one is guaranteed tomorrow or next week, even. The upside to all of this experience is that it's sweetened every good thing in life and reduced the chaff to dust. My days are numbered but they always have been -- cancer just makes you understand the significance of every good day left.
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| Molly & Me |
