It has been a long time since I’ve posted anything in the breast cancer journal. My journaling has taken another path – it is not online, and it is not about being a breast cancer survivor. My mother died in August and a lot of what I have been writing about privately describes my journey through grief.
On August 11, 2010, I went to Denver for my check-up with the doctor at the imaging center and my oncologist. The doctor at the imaging center looks at the mammogram and ultrasound results during my visit, so I knew by the time I was on my way home that I was still NED (no evidence of disease). My oncologist wanted me to have another mammogram and a visit with her in six months; after that, my mammogram schedule would be once a year. She reminded me that it was almost five years since my diagnosis, and at the five-year milestone, my risk of recurrence would go down so significantly that it would be about the same as for all other women in my age category.
On my way home from the hospital, I called my family to let my mother, who was out of town for a medical procedure, know that my check-up was good, and Mom was very happy about that. The following day, unexpectedly, my mother died during the procedure.
Now it’s January, and in one week, it will be five months since my mother died, which seems impossible. And a month after that, it will be time for my six-month checkup, the last one before my anniversary, and a month later, it will be March, five years from my diagnosis, and the milestone that has been my goal: stay cancer free for five years.
In the meantime, I am not feeling well – I am so tired, I am not sleeping well, I have headaches, I was not eating right. For a while, I didn’t have much of an appetite. When I did, rather than going back to my low-fat diet, I began eating comfort food. This week, I brought home bags of fresh green vegetables and am determined to start eating right again. I fluctuate between feeling relief of getting to that five-year mark and the nagging stress of not feeling well and needing one more round of tests before the anniversary to make sure I am still okay.
Things that go through my head, that I try to dismiss: Why am I so tired – as tired as I was when I had cancer? Because my cancer is back, or because I am grieving and not sleeping well? What about my headaches? When reading, why do I see “red bed and butter” instead of “rye bread and butter”? Why am I having trouble with my speech? Because I’m getting aphasia, or because I didn’t rest well? Why am I so forgetful? Are these real and lasting memory problems, or is it just stress?
Those are things I wouldn’t admit to my friends, but somehow am okay with posting on the internet where other survivors can read them, because I know you understand what I’m talking about.
Underneath all of this, I somehow feel settled about things. Although I hate it when people say my mother “is in a better place,” I believe that my mother is okay and that she will always be present to me in ways that are more palpable than memory, because she is my mother, and she will not abandon me (a wonderful thing a friend said to me). I believe that I am probably still cancer free and will get through my checkup okay and that the lumps under my arm are from something else and will go away. And if they aren’t gone in two weeks, I will make an appointment to have them checked, as I do with other things that don’t go away. I believe that grief is a non-linear, inescapable process, part of being a human being, and I vow to try to learn from my children, who have lost their fathers, how to live with it with dignity.
And I believe that even if I don’t remain cancer-free, we are all playing our part in the unrelenting and majestic evolution of the cosmos, and I believe in what some people call the communion of saints or souls, and some people call the cosmic consciousness, and, as my sister says, “I believe in the seen and the unseen.” And I hope to learn courage from others who have gone before me.
I thank Gd that ourpaths crossed. I have no family member with breast cancer or any cancer and I am not a cancer survivor but am a very passionate women about the issues surrounding cancer and a medical doctor ith a rural touch. I just want to tell you that I hear you and you are touching my heart and thank you for starting this blog, Im looking at your writing and I thought, it must be very therapeutic to just talk to the unknown. I wish all our cancer patients had the courage or access to such form of communicating their feelings. To be honest with you, most of us doctors will not listen to this conversation on a consultation base. I am told daily how slow I am in seeing patients, I am not pushing the line(our patients) because I like to listen, even if I may have nothing to say, advice or add. Even if I dont know how its like to have breast cancer especially the tripple negetive type, to go though radiotherapy, chemotherapy, hormonal and biological therapy, to awaits the signs of metastasis with every mamogram, tumour markers.
I am a rural child, we grew up listening to stories, as children we were intrigued, touched, changed but most of all we knew I am not the only one going through this. ur grandmothers the storytellers were reassured that someone is listening and learning from their experiences.
On Mandela’s day celebration, I visit the lodger mothers in my hospital to just sit and listen to the stories that the admitted patients, my wonderful women wants to tell. I realised that all these patients have stories to tell but no one to listen. These are not only the stories of cancer, pain, fears but of joy, they want to show me the pictures of their families, they want to talk about love, sex, they want to just laugh or to just cry without hiding. It became true that bottling things up is not healthy and telling those who may be detructive is not healthy either but congratulations for sharing with me all your fears. I hear you! I feel your pain! but what I see is not fear or pain but the courage, the reason to leave and enjoying the life without putting a lot of emphasis on the changes that occurs daily. I am 36 years old and my son thinks Im so old because I am forgetting where I left my keys, forgeting my perfumes names, forgetting the name of a movie we just watched, the chapter I just read, the name of a friend we met last week or worse the political feagure or the african musician he should admire and not forget because of their contribution to our freedom. Mom! he will say and shake his head!! Sometime there is a natural order of things but when expecting the worse, your mind will register the worse and give you the worst picture.
I am sorry to hear about your mother, I am who I am because of my domestic worker mom who I love and need so much. Your comments of her whereabouts reminds me of how african communities keep the memories of those who passed on by keeping the ancestoral beliefs and rituals alive. My advice is keep you belief system alive not your neighbours. If they believe their mothers are on the other side of life and you believe your mom is with you daily, so be it!! We cannot have peer pressure on the belief system. It is much deeper than that. As every african families belive that their family members spirit has to be returned home, slaughter a cow to welcome that like it was done at the 100years celebration of the ANC over the weekend, that is their belief and no western influences can change that because…It is really deeper that the western ideology.
I would likeyou to tell me more about that trip to the beach, your photo album, that comedy show you went to, about your favourite musician, your favourite book. I have realised that everytime I dont feel like going to that function or watch that movie, when Im just doing it to honour the invite or to respect my son’s desire to go to the movies, I actually come back thinking, that was good. I really did not expect it to be so relieving or so lifechanging in a small way.
Congratulations for surviving until this far!!
I am listening!
What a beautiful message from someone who was yesterday just a stranger! I looked you up online after I read your message and I see that you are involved in many activities to benefit women where you live, and now you have reached out across a great distance to comfort me. I am so grateful to you for taking the time to send such a comforting letter. I hope to hear more about the things you are doing there.
I won’t forget you.
This was a very inspiring story. I personally do not have breast cancer but i know of people who do. I can only imagine how hard it must have been to go through all that struggle and I am very sorry to hear about your mother passing. At least she was able to hear the good news of you being free. Thank you for sharing your story.