It’s good to be 32!

I can’t believe I made it to 32! There was a moment in time when I really thought I wouldn’t live past 31 and that my life would be cut short so soon. It was a thought I pushed away and tried not to focus on. My coping strategies were basically to cocoon myself, and it worked quite well. Pair that with my terrible memory and just focusing on the present – I think it made for a really effective coping environment to help mitigate the stress and dread. I finally turned 32 and received the best news, too! The additional genetic testing came back indicating that I did not have the BRCA 1 or 2 mutations. This meant the oncologist would not place me on the additional drug (that I would have to take for a year, which would prevent recurrence from breast cancer – shoutout to there being pills for this now!) as it is decently dangerous and he did not want to risk it. I am so thankful for this news since it means my treatment has effectively ended, and I no longer feel like a ticking time bomb. This also means, in a sense, that the cancer I was diagnosed with was random and not due to a familial genetic occurrence. To me, it makes a significant difference. Could it come back? Maybe. But I guess in my brain, it eases the anxiety that it was a ticking time bomb situation. It also eases my dread should I have children, that this is not something I could pass down. It’s odd, I guess, in the grand scheme of things it could come back – I’m not free from this – but it still is an important fact I am grateful for. I am holding on to it, and it really made my birthday a very sweet one. I am proclaiming and manifesting there is no recurrence of breast cancer or any other cancer, and that I will live a long and healthy life!

I was counseled on how to proceed. Adhering to the best practices. All with the understanding that I could do everything right, but nothing can truly prevent cancer from coming back. I can at least say I made an effort. I was advised to follow the Mediterranean diet as much as possible, limiting red meat consumption to once or twice a week and eliminating processed foods. He advised focusing on eating well and not worrying about the number on the scale. He said he couldn’t care less about it, but if I were truly bothered by it, we could look into injections. I really appreciated this approach. Additionally, for the rest of my life, I will have to take cardio seriously to help my heart following the brutal chemotherapy. While the cardiologist noted there was no serious or visible damage, the heart still took a hit. I have to realize that I was systematically obliterated and poisoned in order to have a fighting chance. This was brutal, but I am incredibly proud of how well my body persevered in the grand scheme of things. The PA informed the oncologist that it was my birthday, and the oncologist smiled, wished me a happy birthday, and gave me a hug. We discussed other items on my list of questions and were told that the hot flashes will persist, and I won’t have my cycle until my body heals. While I was given the Lupron shot, the chemo also stopped my menstrual cycle. It’ll take time for everything to get back to “normal.” Many things have been left in disarray, and I am now picking up the pieces. Next week, I have my consultation with the surgeon to remove the chemo port. I will ask if I can keep it. Would that be too morbid? I will have my mammogram in six months, and I hope that everything looks okay and clear; however, I will have to wait for now. It feels like whiplash. We’ve been going nonstop with this aggressive and brutal treatment plan, and now all of a sudden I just have to wait.

At the end of the meeting, the oncologist became pensive, hands in his pockets. He looked at me and said, “May God protect you,” and that was the end of our meeting. I don’t know why, but even thinking of this now makes me tear up. It was so genuine and so true. It was such an authentic wish, and it felt like a heartfelt hug. I am genuinely so thankful that he is my oncologist. He has been nothing but kind, caring, and incredibly knowledgeable and professional. I am truly thankful and appreciate his guidance and care in treating me during this challenging situation. I am sad I didn’t take a picture with him and the PA, but I will see them next time in April for my follow-up appointment. He is truly an angel, and he made all the difference in guiding me through this brutal treatment. I genuinely felt safe and heard throughout my time receiving treatment.

Today I also had my follow-up appointment with my PCP, and all went okay with her. I am pleased that while the steroids decimated me and I gained a lot of pounds, my numbers were looking good. Moving forward, I hope to eat well and continue moving and exercising as my body allows, and work to improve this aspect – I won’t focus on the number on the scale. In my latest therapy session, too, we covered how I felt like I was inhabiting a foreign body. It is not moving how I want it to, and it’s just a very different body. I am grieving the body I had, but also accepting that I am starting anew and giving myself grace. I am now moving from “undergoing cancer treatment” as an identity to that of a survivor, though even then that label sounds weird because I technically won’t be in remission or know until that new mammogram. But I am a survivor, and now my “battle scars” are “victory scars.” As we discussed, I am now closing this book. It’s not a new chapter, but a whole new book altogether. I truly cannot emphasize enough how thankful I am for my life and the perseverance I have demonstrated. Yes, my body is a bit worse for wear, yes, I am dealing with memory issues and some cognitive issues, but man oh man am I happy to be alive. I am thankful that my experience was so positive. In the grand scheme of things, everything went as well as it could. I am deeply thankful for the support and love I received, and I know that this win was a collective achievement.

Tomorrow is the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walk in Orlando, and it just feels SO fitting that this event is happening when it is. It feels like a joyous celebration, and I am excited to walk alongside everyone. A small note: I recently learned that all this advocacy has helped improve treatment for breast cancer. Previously, radical mastectomies were the standard practice until advocacy moved the best treatment to a more individualized approach. Wild! Just know that tomorrow I will be a mess of tears and emotions.

I am excited to walk this walk. I am excited to put this identity down. This bout with cancer does not define me. I am more than this. I will continue to advocate for research and treatment. And I will live my life and rest. I’ve battled enough.

I am lying on the beach, and I am done fighting and kicking. I made it out of the rip current alive, and I’m exhausted. I am safe. I made it.

If you’re interested in donating here is the page! : https://secure.acsevents.org/site/TR/MakingStridesAgainstBreastCancer/MSABCCY25SER?px=60607602&pg=personal&fr_id=110794