Okay…so it’s my 56th birthday today (I spent most of 55 thinking I was already 56 – what a waste). Happy Birthday to me! And it’s been just over a year since I finished chemo, almost a year since I had radiotherapy, and 363 days since I started on Letrozole. Where am I now?
I’m not really sure, to be honest. Life goes on with all of the stuff that was happening before and now the cancer is old news (unless it comes back, of course). The problem is that it’s not over and never will be.
The Letrozole that I will probably be on for another 4, 9, 14 or 19 years has had a devastating effect on my body. It’s brought on arthritis that was always going to happen but nowhere near as soon. It’s also causing major issues with my joints and the soft tissue in between. Some days I struggle to put on my socks and there have been times that the kids have had to help me out of the car. I’ve also put on weight from it and it seems that no amount of exercise is improving my muscle strength. And this is only a maybe as far as preventing recurrence. But it’s the only maybe there is, so I will persevere with it. I know that a lot of women stop taking it (there’s a huge compliance problem with it and researchers scratch there heads wondering why, mostly ignoring the reports of the severity of the side effects) – they say that quality of life is more important. I agree that it’s important and I feel that I’m only half the person I should be but my kids will take half a mum over no mum so that’s my answer.
There are also some permanent leftovers from chemo, radiation and surgery. The skin around the area is tight from the radiation, worsened by my body’s attempts to deal with the surgery trauma. I still have no feeling under and down the top of my arm, and parts of my right foot are still affected by peripheral neuropathy. Rollerskating a couple of months ago was an interesting exercise given that I was pushing off with that foot and couldn’t feel it. I was also shocked at how scared I was to get out on the rink but I did it.
Then there’s the emotional/psychological side. There’s a huge pressure for cancer survivors to “make it all worthwhile”…we’re supposed to have some sort of epiphany and make our lives count. What a bloody guilt trip! Personally, I’m just trying to cope here and get on with what I need to. Add to that, a memory that’s like one of those old string bags, a resilience level that you could trip over, and the struggle to recognise the stranger in the mirror…well, it’s all a bit of a mess.
It sounds doom and gloom, doesn’t it? And it feels it at times. I recently learned that a close colleague had died from breast cancer – she was diagnosed a few months before me. I know that this is very much an outcome that I could be facing but I will not go gently into that dark night. But the only weapons I have are those that the medical profession provide and they are woefully pitiful both in side effects and efficacy.
On the other hand, I’m here and I don’t intend to go anywhere soon (unless it’s somewhere sunny – August 7 is turning on it’s usual rain). So, Happy Birthday to me!