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"I got to thinking one day about all those women on the Titanic who passed up dessert at dinner that fateful night in an effort to 'cut back.' From then on, I've tried to be a little more flexible."
(Erma Bombeck)

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Saturday
Aug292009

Life and the "new normal"

(Right: my "Patty Duke" look)

I have now gone for over seven weeks without updating my blog—the longest period since I began writing it. I guess the truth is that I haven’t needed to write . . . or maybe I haven’t wanted to write. Truthfully, I’ve been feeling that interest in my blog has been waning, but I had an email this week that jarred me back to reality. A friend emailed and asked why I hadn’t been blogging, as it’s her way of keeping up on what’s happening in my life.

I reflected on the fact that I started the blog for myself, not really for others. I remember being surprised to learn how many people were interested in reading it. I don’t know why that surprised me, though. I often read other people’s blogs, some that I stumble upon while surfing the web. I’ve caught myself more than once thinking, “What the heck am I doing? I’ve sat here for the last 10 minutes reading about some lady’s dog and I don’t even know who these people are!”

Somehow, I got caught up in the idea that I needed to share something interesting/witty/inspirational/whatever. But that’s not why I got into this blogging thing. I did it to keep a record of my journey with cancer and all the associated feelings and thoughts that come with it. Even though my treatment is finished (well, except for the oral medication I’ll be taking for the next five years), there’s still plenty of journey left. So, whether anyone is interested or not, I’ll write.

I’m also in the process of turning this blog into a book through the CaringBridge website. The book will be for me, my daughter, her offspring, or whoever wants to stick it in a box and take it out and read it one rainy day. :~)

Life has been busy and I’ve enjoyed extra days off with my family. Since my last entry, we’ve taken a one-week vacation (see photos here) and now I’m gearing up to return to work full-time next week.

In July, I had three-month follow-up appointments with my oncologist and my radiation oncologist. I started experiencing frequent heart palpitations about a month after I started taking Tamoxifen, in addition to being told that I had an “abnormal heartbeat” by my nurse practitioner.

So I found a new primary care doctor and asked for some tests. He referred me to a cardiac clinic. My first test was to wear a Holter monitor for 48 hours to record the activity of my heart. The report showed nothing compelling (although my heart was flip-flopping during that time, they said it wasn’t “significant”).

This week, I met with a cardiologist who gave me a very thorough exam. He listened to my heart while I was sitting, lying down, lying on my left side, standing, squatting, and rising to a standing position from a squat. He said that I probably had a mitral valve prolapse or mitral valve stenosis and that they are usually fairly benign conditions. I’m going for an echo-cardiogram next week to follow up on that. In the meantime, the palpitations have subsided considerably, thank goodness.

What I’ve learned from reading the Internet (and talking to other women), is that heart palpitations are a common symptom of menopause. Now, why would I have to read about this on my own rather than having a doctor mention it? Apparently, when a woman’s hormones get all whacked out, it affects her heart.

Taking Tamoxifen most definitely messes with your hormones since it prevents your cell receptors from being able to take in estrogen. So, even though my ovaries are still producing estrogen (which means I’m not officially menopausal), I still have the symptoms of menopause. Confused yet? Pay attention; there will be a pop quiz at the end of this blog! :~)

The last few months, I’ve been involved in the business of “getting back to normal.” In some respects, I’m amazed at how easy it is to go back to the routine-ness of life after cancer treatment. This bothers me a bit. It reminds me a movie where there’s a time warp and a person time-travels to another land and time, experiencing all kinds of triumphs and tragedies—and then returns to his “normal” life--all in a span of about two seconds (think “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe”). Everything is the same, but not.

I believe that going to work and interacting with my co-workers throughout my treatment helped me immensely. It kept me connected to reality. It kept me from feeling sorry for myself and dwelling on the cancer. It gave me a reason to get up in the morning and get it together and focus on something outside of myself. My co-workers were wonderfully supportive. I’m so very thankful for the blessing of my job and the people there.

I’m looking forward to starting a new school year next week and getting back to work at the high school (I’ve been off from my high school job all summer). Let’s just say--never a dull moment!

One of the things I’ve noticed this last school year is that I enjoy the students more than I ever did when I first started working at the high school. I see them in a different light than I did years ago. I have more compassion for them. Maybe it’s because my own daughter has lived through the same years and I can identify with the students better now. Maybe it’s because I’ve been through cancer treatment and I’ve become more sensitized in general. Perhaps it’s because I’ve worked with the students at student conferences and field trips over the years and know them better. Whatever it is, I enjoy the relationships.

I’ve re-played some of the events of the last year in my head . . . and I’m amazed. I’m amazed that I was able to work and (mostly) keep up on my job. I’m amazed that while others around me were deciding where to go for vacation, I was wondering if I would live to see my future grandchildren. I’m amazed that while my co-workers were complaining about messy classrooms, I was losing my hair. I’m amazed that while my friends were getting manicures, I was getting chemo and radiation.

Forgive me for stating the obvious, but I’ve realized that I have gone through a traumatic experience. I’m amazed that all of these life-changing events happened to me and now I once again have the luxury to complain about mundane things and wonder what to fix for dinner while other people are having chemo and losing their hair and wondering how long they have left to live.

I find that I have a strange sense of entitlement—I don’t care if I spend more money on vacation or take an expensive class or buy something nice for myself. I don’t think I’m being a spendthrift, but when I spent money on those things before, it was always with a certain amount of guilt. For now, anyway, the guilt is mostly gone.

I’m also inclined to give more. The other day, I saw a “homeless” guy (well, he had the requisite sign, anyway), and I circled the block, ran into Safeway, picked up a gift card, and brought it back to him. There was just something about him that made me want to do it. That isn’t mentioned to pat myself on the back, only to say that BC (before cancer), I’m not sure I would have gone out of my way or even really noticed him. Then, my giving had to be convenient for ME.

I have a mammogram scheduled for September 11. I am fairly dreading it. My last mammogram was six months ago (just before starting radiation), and it didn’t go smoothly. The doctors found a hematoma in my right breast at the site of my lumpectomy. They said it should dissipate over several months and that they want to watch it. The last thing my radiation oncologist told me before I left his office in April was NOT to let them stick a needle in there to drain the hematoma—he said it could introduce infection.

I’ve been having aches and a stinging sensation in the same breast off and on since radiation ended. When I asked the radiation oncologist about it, he said aches are normal. However, if you will recall, this whole breast cancer saga started with PAIN in my breast. So, to continue experiencing it after treatment (in the same area) . . . well, let’s just say it’s disconcerting.

And it’s been a year since my other breast was examined, so I’m feeling anxious. I’ve asked my husband to go with me to the appointment. I want him there for moral support, especially if something unexpected were to happen. I know I sound pretty fearful, but really . . . can you blame me? I guess I need to get a normal mammogram under my belt and then I can breathe a little more freely.

Last year after my first surgery, I asked a fellow breast cancer survivor how long it was after her diagnosis before she began to experience a sense of relief. She thought about it a moment and then replied, “Probably about two years.” TWO YEARS. I’m glad she was so truthful—I needed that dose of reality. It also helps me realize not to expect too much of myself this first year—I need to adjust to a “new normal.”

“It is not until you become a mother that your judgment slowly turns to compassion and understanding.” – Erma Bombeck

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