Breast Cancer Awareness Month might be over, but it never ends for some of us

Hi Nancy,

Excellent, honest post, and you hit on the fact that cancer never goes away for us. I remember 20 plus years ago, when my surgeon told me during my biopsy that he could tell from the diagnostic mammogram that it was cancer, the bottom of my world fell out. When, two days later, he confirmed it was, indeed, cancer, I would never be the same.

As you know, I have severe arthritis in my back. I thought there could be something cancerous going on. I needed my psychotherapist to help me tolerate going through the MRI, something I had to do. I have been psychologically traumatized by cancer and its treatments. I'm on psych meds to help me sleep better at night and cope better during the day. The good thing is psychotherapy and the meds are unbelievably helpful. Still, I'm not the same person. The pre-cancer Beth no longer exists.

Of course, not everything in my life is bad. I got out of a bad marriage and adopted my wonderful daughter.

Like you, I have had several cancer-related surgeries. I am aware of cancer 365 days each year. I don't need Pinktober and breast-related games and parties to remind me of cancer. And I'm glad you brought up those drains! How awful to experience those. I remember crying and crying when I first had to deal with them. And crying when I had to deal with them after another surgery.

I've been lucky to have a distraction this October -- with Inktober, where anyone is welcome to draw pictures in ink. I got so wrapped up with what drawings I was going to create, I was celebrating something that was actually fun.

This sunday will mark 2 years since the words "well, its cancer" made their debut into my life. Eighteen days later I was having my mastectomy with immediate reconstruction and a reduction in the cancer-free breast. I think about it every day. How can I not?one look in the mirror reminds me. There are scars. The recon breast has no feeling and a tatooed nipple (that's a hit to intimacy right there). The belly is numb from the flap procedure. The back of the arm is numb from the lymphnode removal. And lets not forget the lymphedema and cording. These are all the things people don't see when people look at you after cancer. I have been told I look great and that it looks like life is a lot lighter for me now. Nope...still scared out of my mind that cancer will be back. I don't mention any of that or how it makes me to a lot of people out of fear of sounding like a complainer. Most days are good but there are definitely days where I think "how is this my life?"

Nancy, Thank you for this post. I’m a year out from my DCIS diagnosis and I’ve got scans coming up in a few weeks. I can already feel the nerves coming. I’m well aware it could come back and I could have more treatment in the future. But, I still have a life to live, even with the recurrence worries.

My husband says the same exact thing about my blog, but I think it’s more that he’s afraid to read it. I’m sure once I die, he will take comfort in hearing my voice in my words. I started writing as a gift for him but it became much bigger than that and it’s nothing like I originally thought it would be. But the day I heard the words “you have terminal lobular stage four metastatic breast cancer with bone inclusion” I felt like a dead deer in the tail lights of a hit and run driver’s speeding car. They don’t like looking back. The doctors at the hospital didn’t care too much for my kind of hopeless case - the incurable. But things changed between March 2015 and today. The clinical trials that were well under way like PALOMA 3 and PALOMA 2 - and added years to my life that I cannot thank those women who gave of themselves to participate in not knowing if they’d survive the trials or of which they’d even reap the benefits. I’m not thrilled with the specialization of BCAM or the pink-fuscation of the real issues- my “rosy lunettes” thank you Moira Rose from Schitts Creek (a must watch avail on Netflix if you’ve not had the pleasure of laughing out loud at least 10 x per episode and laughter is great medicine) but I don’t know how to say to people that I don’t look that sick but inside I’m a big mess of chemo thrashed and cancer smashed Bones and Organs. And it sucks that MBC gets one stinking day - we should at least have as many days as a ratio of a percentage of people who will get secondary or metastatic breast cancer - and I know one of the things that keeps you up at night for many very sad and important reasons Nancy. I love you your spirit and your never ending support. I’ve taken to cancer endurer given that’s how it feels most days. I endure the pain, the many forms of collateral damage thank you Dr Susan Love, and I endure...my life. We carry on best we can knowing our bodies are going to turn on us sooner or later hopefully later and kill us. But we all pray we are part of the growing small % of stage 4 breast cancer endurers (courtesy of Rudy Fischman) who will live beyond the 2.6 year average mortality from diagnosis. I’m lucky to be here. But it’s not a gift and I was fairly self aware before so I don’t have a happy happy joy joy pink fairy dust farting attitude. I have resilience and humor, hope and tenacity and that’s what I think keeps me going. Oh and I’m in a great deal of denial, but whatever works. What. Ever. Works. You’re the best. ❤️

Wow, Donna, you are right. Thank you for your honesty. People think Pink is pretty and therefore don't understand the weight that Cancer Havers truly bear. I didn't.

I am two months out from a Stage 2 ER+/P+/HER2 negative diagnosis, and still awaiting a mastectomy. I never thought much about strange pains here and there, but everything is amplified. The what-ifs are the gnats that won't leave me alone.

I know that once I have that surgery, the train of my life will be on another track completely - until I'm in the grave. But the whole thing never fully escapes my thought processes. Thank you for your post.