I am the last person to be up-to-date tech-savvy as my family and work staff can attest. I come from an era of over three decades ago where I used a standard typewriter and white-out to do my college assignments.
Blogging and learning how to use an iPod are the new technology additions in my life with this cancer diagnosis. My son-in-law and husband tease me saying I’ve moved from a Sony Walkman (circa 1980’s) to using the first version of an iPod (circa mid 2000’s). I think I’m doing well jumping technology decades in six short weeks!
The blog came as a result of the urgings of my 20-something kids and their mates who said it would be the best way to stay in touch with so many on the travels with cancer. I’m still resisting Facebook.
I have heard from many of you that you are enjoying reading my cancer blog. It’s my e-journal and a healthy way for me to share my story with others. Thank you for your feedback and comments.
I am learning so much from all of you in this journey of healing. Your warm words of encouragement give me something to look forward each day as I recuperate. The blog is now a positive part of my new daily routine and is something to look forward to as my former boss, breast cancer survivor, and mentor suggested would be an important part of my “new normal” life in living with cancer.
Making the Blog Interactive
Some of you have already joined the blog as followers. Some have posted comments. A lot of you have tried to become followers and want to post comments, but are having trouble completing the log-in registrations to do so.
My tech-savvy family members tell me that there is a method to become blog followers and also enables you to post comments on my blog.
Here is how you can interact with me on the Strength, Cancer, and Determination blog:
In the right margin of the blog page you will see a heading called “Followers”. If you wish to become a follower, you need to click on the word “Follow “ and that will take you to a sign-in page. If you don’t already have one, you must establish an account with one of the services listed.
To create an account, for example, with Google, click on “Create a New Google Account” for on the sign-in page.
Enter your email address, choose a password, and then re-enter the password.
“Enable Web History” will automatically be checked. This means that Google will track and store your web browsing history. If you are not comfortable with that, uncheck this box.
If you wish to enter your birthday, you can, but it’s not necessary.
Read the “Term & Conditions” and then click “I accept. Create my account”.
In order to post a comment on any of the blog entries, you must be logged in on your Google account if you wish to publish your name with the comment.
You can also comment anonymously by selecting “anonymous” from the drop down menu below the comment box.
In either case, once you enter a comment and click on “Post a Comment”. A word verification appears below the comment box. Click on the phrase “Word Verification” and another box appears. Type in the letters found above this box and then click “Post Comment”.
And that should do it. If your comment does not appear immediately, refresh the page and it should then appear.
A short update for those of you who haven't yet heard--the BEST news. Mom's mastectomy went perfectly. She has been alert and chatty (surprise, surprise) and hasn't needed a pain killer since yesterday afternoon. BUT! The BEST news of all is that, when tested, her sentinel lymph node tested NEGATIVE for cancer!!!!! The cancer was contained in her breast--thank God! We won't know more details for another 10-14 days or so, but that is the best news we could have hoped for. Mom is resting at home now, though resting is, of course, a relative term with her!
Friday, April 23 is my surgery date. I’ll be up bright and early to make this appointment that has been six weeks in the waiting. My husband has asked the surgeon to keep me overnight after the surgery. I will be home within 24 hours of the procedure.
It has been a good six weeks. I have become a friend of exercise. I am learning to relax and better manage my stress. I have gone for massages and stress reduction workshops. I have learned about my disease from my health care team. I have adjusted my nutrition to make my body stronger to endure the surgery and treatments to follow.
One next-door neighbor and her daughter are breast cancer survivors. The other next-door neighbor was recently diagnosed with breast cancer last week. Her surgery is next week. Morning coffee visits in our pajamas will be our norm these next few months. We will enjoy the early morning weather on our backyard patios and share our cancer journeys together. I look forward to becoming a better friend to my neighbor in her cancer journey. It will also be good for me, and for our husbands. I wonder about the 1 in 8 women get breast cancer statistic…
I won’t be able to blog for awhile. My dominant hand is my right hand. It’s also the side my surgery is on, so I’ll be back as soon as I’m able. My daughter, who edits this blog, will be a guest blogger to keep you up to date on my surgery and recovery until I can return. She will also guest write from time to time while I am in treatments.
At the pre-surgery information session, newly diagnosed breast cancer patients were told that daily exercise is good for our bodies to endure anesthetic and surgery, to aide in chemotherapy and radiation treatments that follow, and to help to reduce the recurrence of cancer post treatment.
Every day leading up to our surgery and thereafter for the rest of our lives, we need to exercise for a minimum of a half hour a day. Our family has had Y memberships for nearly 20 years. Exercise was not foreign to me, but became a lesser priority in recent months with the demands of life. It’s nice to have the time to get back into a predictable exercise routine. I feel so much healthier in just a few weeks of making this a daily activity.
I have been an Aquasize fan for probably 18 years. My kids jokingly call me hard core. Now, there is a new dimension and a new need to once again enjoy the resistance of water against my body while it’s active. When I have been frustrated with this recent cancer diagnosis, I visualize kicking it out of my body with karate kicks in the pool. At times, I feel like a boxer who wants to punch the cancer opponent and knock it out. When I’m not in the pool, I’ll go for a walk and visualize stomping cancer with my feet when I walk. Weird—but liberating!
Today was my last big splash in the pool, as my day before surgery. Aquasize will have to wait awhile for my return. The people I share space with in the pool at the Y will be happy. There will more room in the pool as my 5’ 10” body will no longer take up space in the bumper car traffic they call water aerobics.
I’ll be back in a few months complete with my swimming prosthesis! Maybe I’ll even consider teaching Aquasize classes offered to breast cancer survivors at one of the local Y’s.
Last summer, our daughter arrived home after a Canada Day picnic announcing that she got engaged that day. Her wedding is this August. It is going on in the midst of cancer treatments.
One of the first questions people asked me after they heard of the cancer diagnosis was, “Is Marissa’s wedding still on this summer?” My answer was: “Why not? Life continues on in spite of a cancer diagnosis.” She and her fiancé have been planning a life together starting this summer. Her father and I will make their dream come true.
The wedding, and the bridal shower are something for me to look forward to and to occupy my time with. We will celebrate with aplomb! My teary-eyed daughter recently declared: “Mom, I don’t care if you come to the wedding with a wig and in a wheelchair. All that matters to me is that my mom will be there for me.” Enough said, tears shed by all of us.
We’re also going to savor the moments of her university convocation this June. She’s worked hard for the last four years to earn a degree in Rhetoric, Writing, Communications and Linguistics, which is worthy of celebration!
Our son has been away from the family nest for the last three years. Our daughter flies out this summer. We will officially be empty nesters.
My mother, in her wisdom, remarked on the day of my cancer diagnosis that, “you were never one to back down from a challenge. This is just a new one for you.” She’s right.
I have tackled life’s challenges by immersing myself into the problem, learning about it, and then organizing the information in ways that are helpful to me to resolve it.
With cancer, there are certainly no shortages of information sources in which one can immerse themselves into. Websites abound. So do books. It’s dizzying to see how much cancer information is out there.
In the first few days, the cancer experience was like a hunger that needed to be fed. I wanted to devour everything about the disease that I could find. It didn’t take long to experience information overload, confusion, and a healthy dose of fear.
I learned that I had to read about cancer in small doses and only from credible sources. My health care team helped me to filter out the credible sources and ones that were not. I now only read information from the sources that they have recommended.
I still need to digest the information in small doses. The technical information is good for knowledge about the steps that will be taken to treat this disease. The books on living through the cancer experience and surviving are inspiring and helpful. They validate that the range of emotions that I am feeling about this disease many others have also experienced.
Both types of information are valuable and make me feel like I have some input and control over what is happening to me in each phase of this cancer journey.
I have been empowered from the very start to have a say in my cancer treatment. It began with my surgeon’s discussions on three treatment options to remove affected tissue. I am also rounding out my team of medical care givers who are traveling with me on this journey that were referred to me through programs and services under our care cancer care provider.
The care team so far includes my family doctor, a radiologist, two pathologists, and my breast cancer surgeon who currently heads up the active medical care team. There is also a breast cancer centre surgery nurse educator, a breast health nurse educator (I am learning a whole new language of medical terminology she is interpreting), a breast cancer nutritionist, a psychosocial oncology social worker, and a cancer chaplain.
In the months to come they will be joined by a medical (sarcoma) oncologist who will take over primary responsibility for my treatment from the surgeon, along with an oncology nurse who will be my main liaison to the treatment team. Others on the team will also include an oncology pharmacist, treatment technicians, and potentially a physiotherapist and occupational therapist.
One of the themes that have come up in my journaling is that of “Cancer -The Teacher.” It will be interesting to see what I will be learning in this phase of life. Already there have been many “mini lessons.”
In this cancer journey, I am finding that there is no one person who can be all things to someone who is living with this disease. The enormity of what is, and what is to come with cancer is more than one person can comprehend. At times, it is simply overwhelming. Others can help carry the physical, emotional, and spiritual loads that come with a cancer diagnosis.
It is also interesting to share the cancer story with others. It has surprised me in that some people whom I thought would have been stalwart travelers in this cancer journey have faded into the background coming face to face with mortality and not knowing what to say to someone who is living with cancer. I do not hold this against them; it is tough to talk about something we all are scared about.
What has been a heartwarming surprise is how people from my past and present have put on the shield of courage and want to walk with me in this cancer journey. The ways in which people want to travel with me are many. I have also been endlessly reminded that I have to let others in to help me in the day to day living of my life and household that I will temporarily not be able to manage in the next year.
Help, care, and concern have been expressed in many ways through: rides to appointments, food for the family, housecleaning, laundry, prayers, letters, emails, cards of encouragement, flowers delivered to my home, gift baskets, phone calls, company, coffee, lunches, dinners, walks, and hearty hugs of support.
There have also been many heart to heart visits from my fellow travelers who look me in the eye and tenderly listen, share my fears, laugh with me, and ask the tough questions I need to hear to make me get answers to concerns I have not yet thought about.
Undoubtedly, one lesson those closest to me are teaching is that I have to let go of the control in my life, which was reinforced for me by a cancer survivor friend who told me that “with cancer there is no control in your life.”
This will be one of the hardest lessons I will have to learn. I also need to learn that it’s my time to put me first. The needs of others always came first, as I juggled being a wife, a mother, a daughter to an aging mother, working full time, and community volunteering. I fit my needs in last.
One of the most helpful lessons I have learned has come from my friend who is the breast cancer survivor and mentor. Early on with this diagnosis, she told me that every day I need to wake up and look forward to doing something that I would enjoy that day. Spending more quality time with family, getting reacquainted with more regular exercise, having lunch or coffee with friends, and simply enjoying the beauty of spring unfolding and sunshine are among life’s simple pleasures I enjoy daily.
Those who are traveling with me certainly help to ease the load and shelter some of the burden. Ultimately, the biggest lesson that I have learned in this cancer diagnosis is that I am the lone traveler.
I am the one who will have surgery that will permanently alter my body. I am the one who will have toxic chemotherapy drugs entering my body to make it really sick so that I can get better. I am the one who will lose her hair and live with “billiard ball head” for a few months. I am the one who will receive radiation.
Among the first things that my breast cancer health care team members mentioned to me is the benefit of journaling one’s experiences in living with cancer. This therapeutic exercise is comfortable and familiar. I have kept journals since 1994.
As I waited for my initial biopsy results, I began to actively journal again, having been lax with it recently. Journaling is a safe place to cry, to be angry, to vent, and to be happy as the emotions of dealing with cancer can arise from no-where and can come with great energy and force.
I am now keeping three journals: one for my oncology counselor, one about the friends who are journeying with me, and one that allows the raw emotions of cancer to surface, be expressed, and released on the bad days when I am feeling down, sad, and frustrated with a disease that I have no control over.
Because breast cancer is a woman’s disease, I feel drawn in a special way to my sisterhood who are traveling with me on this journey. They are a definite boost in living with breast cancer.
Adhering to my surgeon’s advice, a group of “Warrior Women of the Amazon Tribe” has been formed of family members and friends who are helping me to fight breast cancer. I am the chief warrior of the tribe. (My kids reminded me that Amazon women warriors purposely removed one breast to help them reach their arrows more easily while at war.)
The “Women Warriors of the Amazon Tribe” are an amazing group of ladies--young, seasoned, and elderly. They have come into my life as family members, friends, and business partners who have become friends. All of these women are treasured for their friendships and the unique gifts that they each bring into my life.
One fellow warrior is a former boss who is a breast cancer survivor. She is mentoring me once again, this time in the mysteries of breast cancer treatments. The other women warriors range from women executives who work in business and not-for profits, entrepreneurs, a broadcast journalist, a financial planner, medical professionals, a wide range of business professionals, and my hairstylist.
I have a subtle, offbeat sense of humor. I would rather have laughter than sadness in fighting this disease. One of my wishes before my cancer treatments began was to have a party to honor these special women in my life, who have offered to surround me with their care in this cancer journey. My family fulfilled this wish.
The women warriors kicked off our breast cancer sisterhood with a “Bye Bye Boobie Bash.” For levity, my daughter and daughter-in-law presented me with a pink hard-hat and pink feather boa to greet my guests at the door. The warrior women spent several hours of fun amid laughter, tears, friendship, and fabulous food—of course!
The warmth, caring, kindness and humor of these Amazon women brings a smile to my face as I think about the party and their bolstering of my spirits. Their love resonates with warm memories to help me prepare me for my mastectomy and treatments that will follow. I know these Warrior Women will be there for me though the ups and downs that will be part of this journey.
I am also grateful for the many strong men who are who are also traveling with me on this cancer journey—as family members and friends. The gents provide different kinds of support from the gals, and they are fewer in number. The love, care, and support of male family and friends are just as appreciated as that of women, and critical to my team of cancer travelers.
Generally, guys want to do things for me to help in this journey. They’re also pragmatic and really good at asking the tough questions. They make me think about different aspects of the cancer journey than women do. Two of my male friends are also cancer survivors--their perspective comes with the wisdom of experiencing and managing a life-threatening disease.
The support and perspectives of friends of both sexes are needed, necessary, and appreciated. I am learning that my circle of caring has to be large as people each offer help in ways that is needed.
A book written by a cancer survivor that I finished reading yesterday confirmed this.
The author says that in her journey with cancer, she surrounded herself with people who could inform her about her illness, give her practical help with daily tasks, give her emotional support, affirm her as a person, and form a network of supporters who shared their concerns about her.
A breast cancer surgeon delivered my biopsy results. He has a tough job.
Every week, he has to tell women that they have a breast cancer diagnosis, and that he is the surgeon who will be the first person on her care team to begin her breast cancer treatment that will take several months.
My surgeon showed tremendous empathy and sensitivity. He was kind, compassionate, patient, comforting, and very knowledgeable. He discussed work options while waiting for treatment and offered to put me on indefinite, immediate sick leave to take care of personal matters to help prepare for the mastectomy surgery that was to come.
He admitted that as a male, he couldn’t experience what his female patients undergo physically and psychologically with breast cancer surgery. He spent a lot of time patiently explaining what the next months will entail with surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. He offered me his office phone number to call at any time with questions or concerns, promising he would personally return the calls. His office has been called several times, and yes, he does personally return the calls with the same empathy and sensitivity that was shown on my first visit.
The best words of advice my surgeon gave me were to “surround yourself with strong women, your sisterhood, to help you get through this.” He punctuated his sage advice with the need to not only surround myself with women in my family, but with other women who will travel with me during this cancer treatment.
I can say that intuitively that I knew I had cancer. My breast cancer surgeon even mentioned it during my diagnosis appointment. He said that he could tell that I knew I had cancer when he came into the examining room to deliver the news and treatment plan.
There were a few clues that contributed to my intuitive hunch. My family doctor of 15 years, with whom I have shared my life and kid raising stories, scurried to get me an urgent mammogram after I found a suspicious lump that was accompanied by chronic low-grade pain, which occasionally had a sharp, piercing pain with it. Breast cancer typically does not present with pain.
The mammogram’s inconclusive results were delivered in less than 24 hours. There was no calcification—usually an indicator of cancer. However, there was a mysterious mass that appeared on the x-rays, which could not be explained with a mammogram. This was the first indication that something more serious was present.
The inconclusive results made my doctor continue in her efforts to get me an urgent biopsy appointment, arranging for it while she was on holidays in New York. She called me on her cell phone to keep me up to date on what she was arranging. This was the second indication that something was amiss. She was also concurrently arranging care with a surgeon whom she hand picked for me. She wanted to alert him of my case and pending surgery she felt would be required, without the biopsy and results that were still to come.
The response of the radiologist during my ultrasound and biopsy was the third hint cancer might be invading my body. He confirmed that there was a mass during the testing procedures, and that it would need to be removed with some kind of surgery. I left the appointment in physical pain from the procedure and in an emotional fog, waiting to hear of my biopsy results one week later.
As my family doctor had warned me, the waiting for procedures and their diagnosis would be a difficult time until results were known. Sleep was a luxury; worry, anxiety, and fear became my new night time friends.
March 11, 2010. This is the day I learned that I had cancer. This is the day that a cancer diagnosis changed my life. Forever. It wasn’t a journey I was planning to take at 51. It’s a trip you hope you never have to make. It’s one that can’t be cancelled or one that you can insure against.
This trip has come as an eye opener and a shock. I feel well. I don’t have breast cancer history in my family. I don’t smoke, am only an occasional drinker, eat well, exercise, am not overweight, and have never been on any medication. I simply don’t get sick. My surgeon tells me that overall I am in excellent health. If I didn’t have pain with my illness, it could have been awhile before I realized I was living with a life-threatening disease.
Cancer came as a thief in the dark night. It prowls along in your body until it finds a point to enter and robs you of your life as you once knew it. And just like the thief that enters your property and makes you feel violated, cancer too enters your body and makes you feel violated—like you should have done more to prevent it from happening.
Cancer stops you in the prime of your life when you are starting to reap the rewards of family life.
Cancer stops you in the prime of your life when you are seeing the fruits of your labor come to fruition in raising two wonderful children to adulthood who are realizing their dreams in graduating with university degrees, getting good jobs, finding wonderful mates, and sharing their adult lives with you in new ways. You move from active parenting to friendship.
Cancer stops you in the prime of your life when you are at the top of your career and you’re starting to think about retirement and making plans that you know will have to be altered.
It’s a time to look back at the challenges of being a wife, mom, and a full time working professional and realize that you done it all, but can no longer be Superwoman—she stopped flying and helping others on March 11.
The day I was diagnosed, I learned that I have a very rare, aggressive form of breast cancer--carcinosarcoma of the breast. The U. S. National Cancer Institute describes this caarsinosarcoma as: “A malignant tumor that is a mixture of carcinoma (cancer of epithelial tissue, which is skin and tissue that lines or covers the internal organs) and sarcoma (cancer of connective tissue, such as bone, cartilage, and fat).”
As I understand it, the cancer I have been diagnosed with is considered a sarcoma rather than breast cancer, but is situated in breast tissue as opposed to somewhere else in my body. Although not considered a breast cancer, the treatment has components of breast cancer with the removal of cancerous tissue through a mastectomy.
The Canadian Cancer Society advised me that carcinosarcoma of the breast strikes about 0.1% of breast cancer patients. My cancer surgeon says it is a form they seldom see in treating breast cancer patients.
My breast cancer nurse educator says a sarcoma oncologist, rather than a breast cancer oncologist, will treat me. Because of its rarity, she says I will be of interest to all of my cancer team caregivers.
The way in which the world sees me is by my name—Sandra. My roles on the stage of life are wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, neighbor, volunteer, mentor, leader, colleague, and career professional. And now, I enter the next stage of life with a new role, that of breast cancer patient.
This blog is my way of connecting with others who want to know about this next stage of life. It’s a way to let you join me in this new stage as I enter into the drama of someone who is living with breast cancer.
The inspiration for this blog is “Strength, Courage, and Determination,” using the initials of my name as descriptors of my cancer experience. The blog is an ode to breast cancer. The daily scripts of living with cancer will pen a new chapter in my life.
I am choosing to make this journey a positive one with Strength, Courage, and Determination. There are many people traveling with me on this journey. You, as one of my readers are one of them.