I'm certifiably "normal"

Well, when it comes to the results of the CYP2D6 test, I'm normal, anyway. What’s a CYP2D6 test? you may ask. It just so happens that I’m quite knowledgeable about it now.

If you will recall, my oncologist wrote a prescription for the drug, Tamoxifen, for me to start taking for the next few years. Tamoxifen is a widely-prescribed drug for women who have been treated for hormone-receptor-positive breast cancer (like me).

Basically, it blocks the effects of estrogen in the body. It also has side effects that run the gamut from merely annoying to very serious. So I have been a bit freaked out about taking it.

Then I learned that a new study came out last December, showing that certain segments of the general population (about 7-10%) cannot metabolize Tamoxifen. When I heard about this, I asked my doctor for the gene test to determine whether I am a “poor metabolizer” or “normal metabolizer” of Tamoxifen.

The gene test consisted of a kit that was mailed to me and included three large cotton swabs. All I had to do was swab the inside of my cheeks several times, let the swabs dry, label them, and mail them back to the testing company in Seattle. Two weeks later, I was informed that I’m a “normal” metabolizer.

Even though I’m not thrilled with having to take Tamoxifen, I’m happy to know that it’s (supposedly) working, as I was not excited about having to pursue alternatives that could include injections or surgery. Thanks be to God for that answer to prayer!

This is a very busy time of the year at my job, since I work at both a high school and a district office. So the stress level is picking up a bit. Since I have been diagnosed with cancer, I have become much more aware of stress and wanting to stay as UN-stressed as possible.

I’m still engaged in my “normal” activities, yet I’ve noticed that there’s a certain detachment that I didn’t have before. I’m not saying whether it’s good or bad—but I think it’s a self-defense mechanism.

One of the things that I appreciated while going through cancer treatment was that the main thing was the main thing; in other words, what really mattered came to the forefront and everyone around me knew it. So my conversation with friends, family, and co-workers was much more real and even intimate. I really don’t want to lose that.

Recently, my daughter had a school project where she was allowed to choose any topic to research, write and speak about. So she chose the topic of breast cancer and its risk factors and possible ways to prevent it.

As part of her research, she asked if she could interview me. A couple of nights ago, just as we were finishing dinner, she asked to do the interview. I was impressed with the questions she asked and with the amount of information she’d already researched. (Of course, she had a stack of books that I handed over to her as great resource materials.)

The thing that surprised me during our interview was that I became fairly emotional as I began remembering all of my experiences this past year. I hadn’t expected that. Maybe it’s because no one has asked me such probing questions, at least not lately.

She asked how having cancer had changed me mentally and spiritually. I realized as I answered her questions that I may look fairly similar to the old Dana on the outside, but that I have been profoundly changed on the inside. I could barely articulate it, though.

Through tears, I told her that I’d realized how fragile my life is, how I always took having a future for granted—but that I don’t anymore. I have come to realize the great love and mercy of God in a way that I never understood it before.

During my treatment, I was bowled over with the love and concern of not only my friends and family, but of people who barely knew me and who took the time to send me a card or a gift and to let me know that they were praying for me.

I realized how even the smallest gesture of friendship or concern can mean so much to a person going through a difficult time. I never want to forget that so that I can reach out to people around me in the same way.

Another question she asked was, “What did you think when you were first diagnosed?” It was hard to answer that one because I had so many feelings going through me the moment after I heard the words, “It’s cancer.”

On one hand, it didn’t seem real and I didn’t fully realize that it was happening to me. I guess that’s denial. The other feeling was fear—am I going to die from this? Mostly shock. It takes awhile for it to sink in.

I told her, "I remember looking over at your dad and he grabbed my hand. I’ll never forget the look on his face—it was completely blank. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t expecting to hear those words, either."

The part I remember very well, though, was this: as we were leaving the clinic, the receptionist called after us, “Have a nice day!” I had to chuckle about that one. :~)

I also remember feeling very distressed with the timing (as if cancer could come at a “good” time, for crying out loud!). It was if I wanted to say, “I don’t have time for this! I have important things going on right now!”

And it’s true—my daughter was getting ready to start her senior year of high school and I was sorely disappointed that I would be going through all of my treatment during a time when I had wanted to be more available to her. However, I believe that we have grown closer as a family than we would have otherwise. It has shown me that truly "all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose."

You may be wondering why I posted a photo of my daughter at the top of this blog entry. Well, my daughter is graduating high school on June 12—less than a month away. All of the preparations for graduation are beginning to hit home with me. I wonder if I hadn’t had cancer this last year, I may have been entirely too maudlin for my own good. If there’s one thing that cancer taught (and is teaching) me, it is to deal with (and appreciate) the moment at hand.

I came across the lyrics below a long time ago and saved them because they resonated with me, but post-cancer, they are even more meaningful.

When I read them, I am filled with joy and thankfulness for the little girl that I’ve been privileged to raise (see pic, above). Her dad and I are very proud of the person she’s become. I can’t take the credit, though. There is someone much bigger at work in her life and I pray she will continue to walk in His way.

We Have This Moment Today
Words by Bill and Gloria Gaither

Hold tight to the sound of the music of living–
Happy songs from the laughter of children at play;
Hold my hand as we run through the sweet fragrant meadows,
Making mem’ries of what was today.

Tiny voice that I hear is my little girl calling
For Daddy to hear just what she has to say;
And my little son running there down the hillside,
May never be quite like today.

Tender words, gentle touch, and a good cup of coffee,
And someone that loves me and wants me to stay;
Hold them near while they’re here, and don’t wait for tomorrow
To look back and wish for today.

Take the blue of the sky and the green of the forest,
The gold and the brown of the freshly-mown hay,
Add the pale shades of spring and the circus of autumn,
And weave you a lovely today.

For we have this moment to hold in our hands,
And to touch as it slips through our fingers like sand;
Yesterday’s gone, and tomorrow may never come,
But we have this moment, today.