I watch the sun slowly sink behind the horizon. A palm tree is outlined in gold against clouds. The evening air is cool and pleasant so I open a window. Sundown starts Yom Kippur. I understand very little about the traditions of this sacred day but do understand that it is a time for self-reflection, prayer, and atonement. This is also a meaningful period within my own life and today is certainly a time for reflection one year after cancer.
It has been just over a year since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. As I reflect upon everything that has happened since that day I find myself a bit overwhelmed. It’s hard to believe I actually went through it all. It all still seems a little disconnected, like a very sad movie instead of the story of my life.
A year ago today I had just met my breast surgeon and I was desperately awaiting a date for my mastectomy. My small A cup breasts were examined almost daily. I spent many days half naked in examination rooms. I was terrified of what my future might hold…surgery, pain, suffering, hair loss, nausea…maybe death. When I think of those days my vision blurs with tears. They were the darkest days of my life. Each second felt like a minute, each minute felt like an hour, each day felt like a year.
I was wrapped deeply in despair. It was as if a dimmer switch had been turned down on my life. All I could see was myself and my illness. The rest of the world was darkness. I could see no future, no past, just my body and the moment I was in and each moment was torture.
And there was so much pain. Weeks and weeks of daily pain. When I awoke after my mastectomy I couldn’t see normally. I experienced a rare side affect of anesthesia called nystagmus where I could not control my eye movements. Then, the pain was excruciating. Every movement of my upper body sent jagged razors of pain through my chest, arms, and back. It even hurt to breath. I had T-rex arms for weeks and was unable to twist, extend my arms, open jars, or reach over my head.
When I recovered from the mastectomy the two months of expansion and reconstruction began. The rock-hard expanders grated on my chest wall and sent bolts of electric pain across my chest and down my sides. For weeks it felt like I was wearing an “electric bra” from the constant painful pins and needles. With each size expansion my chest muscles stretched and spasmed almost continuously.
When my employers learned of my diagnosis, they cut my pay in half. They took full advantage of my illness and my inability to recruit other work. After the 50% pay cut I struggled to pay the bills and was forced to dip into savings. Even a year later I am still struggling to get back to my pre-illness earning capacity.
Then there was the second surgery, another recovery but much faster and less painful than the first. I became a mid-C cup, far larger than my natural A. And finally, deemed “cancer free” the recovery phase began.
Recovery has had its share of disaster. As I pushed the limits of my weakened body I fell not once but twice. The first fall led to skinned knees. The second fall, while attempting to jog, was much more serious and led to a broken hand and another long recovery requiring multiple specialist visits and weeks of occupational therapy.
When my immune system didn’t kick back in after several months we discovered I have a genetic form of immune compromise that will never resolve. It can progress and worsen over time. I will always need to be careful.
Professionally, three months ago I finally got my feet under me and recruited a well-paying pulmonary contract lasting a year and half that would allow me the ability to balance work and self-care. I spent three months of administrative work paying fees, getting the state license, and hospital privileges, only to have the job cancelled a mere two weeks before the start date leaving me again without reliable income and at least three to four months from the possibility of another contract. Ouch.
There have been some bright spots in the year as well. The person I have become is more beautiful than the person I was before. I am kinder, more mindful, more humble, more appreciative, and more grateful. My faith is strong and my relationship with God much closer than ever before. I am more in tune with my body and take much better care of myself than before my diagnosis.
My relationships have grown and changed. My husband and I are closer now than we were a year ago. Though some friends have let me down, some have remained loyal and steadfast. I don’t make nearly what I used to, but I do have a part time night job that allows me to pay the bills most months and only occasionally dip into savings. My hand has mostly recovered and I am slowly adding walking and yoga back into my daily routines. I also started the ThroughLightAndDark blog which has helped me immensely to process my experiences and emotions. I even wrote two books which I am now editing in hopes that someday they may be published.
As night settles over the world outside my window, these reflections of the past year drift through my mind one by one as if carried on the breeze. Over the past year I have traveled this path through times of light and times of complete darkness. I move forward with the hopes that the next year will be better than the last. Still, I am prepared for the worst and accept there are many challenges yet to come.
These reflections leave me feeling a little sad. I wish I could go back to a year ago and hug that me tightly and tell her that she would survive and come out a stronger better person. But now it is time to let the past go for now. With cautious hope I look to the future. I wonder what the next year will bring and what new challenges lay ahead.
If I can survive cancer I can survive anything so bring it on.
