Recalculating

One year ago today, my doctor said, "It is cancer" and everything changed.  It has been a roller coaster of a year.  It is still so surreal that I had breast cancer.  Yes, HAD.  I asked my oncologist when my scan would be - the scan where you are deemed cancer free.  She said I would not be doing one because, when I had the lumpectomy and we found out it hadn't spread, I was cancer free.  I find out I have cancer and within 2 weeks, I didn't.  Too bad it didn't end there.  I had an operation to put my port in, 6 rounds of chemo, trips to the ER, weight gain, weight loss, heart scares, baldness, radiation, rashes, burns, exhaustion, depression, anxiety, fears, and general ickiness.  Like I said, quite a year.

But I have also had a wonderful year.  The birth of my second child, an outpouring of love and support from friends in the form of gifts, emails, texts, cards, food, childcare, prayers, and friendship.  Jason and I have cried, but have laughed much more.  There have been arguments stemming from our fears and exhaustion, but there has been much more laughter and hugs stemming from love.  There have been many runs to the bathroom, but many more runs when Jason calls me to see what cute things the boys are doing.

As crazy as it sounds, when I look back on this past year, I feel mostly happy.  First and foremost, I am alive.  I am alive to watch my boys grow.  When I look back, I think about the fun and giggles.  I have to conscientiously think about the bad.  And there was a lot.  Maybe that is annoying to some people, but that is how I am.  It has taken me a while to get that way, but it has certainly helped me these past few years.  As I said in a previous post, I was tired of feeling sad and mad.  So I stopped and surrounded myself with people who make me happy and grateful.  Maybe God had a hand in that also.  He knew it would serve me well this past year to think that way.

I am hoping it continues to help me as I struggle now with assimilating back into life.  I read a blog months ago before I started radiation.  She explained that the effects of chemo and radiation will linger on for months.  I read it thinking that wouldn't be me.  It is.

My GPS will start saying "recalculating, recalculating" when I go down a different road than the original route said to take.  Wouldn't it be nice if life had something like that?  Because this certainly is not the road I thought I was going to take.

Chemo brain is no joke.  I have stared at a friend trying to recall their name.  A name I have used hundreds of times.  I have always been forgetful, but it is ten times worse.  I am tired all the time.  And I am scared and out of sorts.

When you are first diagnosed and start your treatment, everyone is there.  The support is wonderful.  The compassion is awesome.  But then it is gone.  Before my journey, I didn't realize that just because treatment was done, the ickiness wasn't.  It is no fault of anyones, but after all the outpouring of love and support, it is hard when it abruptly stops.

I am not the same Dawn I was a year ago.  I hope I am a better one, but the jury is still out.  I am trying to figure out who I am post diagnosis and treatment.  I think friends just want to see me well and happy so that is what they see.  But I am not there yet.

I have been out and about and thought, "I am so jealous of all these people.  They aren't holding in screams and anger towards cancer and death!" It doesn't happen often, but enough.

I have panic attacks.  Events will trigger thoughts of my boys growing up without me.  I played in a softball tournament Mother's Day weekend.  It is named after two gentlemen who have passed away.  I looked at the banner with their names on it and pictured my name after theirs.  Then I freak out and wonder why that thought even was in my head.  A little while later, one of my teammates tells me his wife passed away from breast cancer.  I am on the pitcher's mound and I feel like I am going to throw up.  It took me a good minute to calm my breathing and stop the spinning.

Most of the time though it comes in happy times.  When I am bathing the boys and we are all laughing and I am so unbelieveably happy.  The next minute I am picturing them without their mother.  It is such a strong feeling that it scares me.  I feel light headed and sick.

I thought about death before my diagnosis.  Do you know that country song that goes "I hope you get the chance to live like you are dying"?  I have thought about that song often and tried to remember that.  But there is NO way you can unless it is staring you in the face.  And it stares me in the face every day and I am trying really hard not to stare back.

I hope I get to the point where I am not so scared or not so tired or not so not myself.  I am ready to live this next year laughing and enjoying my family and friends.  When you see me out and I am smiling and laughing, that is real.  But underneath that is lurking some ickiness and leftover effects from cancer.   So if I get quiet, know that something is tugging at me to go down a road I don't want to go down.   If you feel inclined, remind me of my blog.  Remind me to stand up and raise my head.  Raise my head above all this ickiness and get back to living.  But watch out, you might get some tears and a really good hug.