One Year Ago

One year ago, I was curled up in the fetal position on a loveseat in a waiting room as patients, nurses, doctors, and technicians went about their business. The fuzzy white bathrobe provided to me from the breast clinic did little to comfort or prepare me from the unfolding horror. Images from the mammogram I had just had were serious enough to warrant immediate biopsies, the results of which confirmed infiltrating breast cancer, already spreading to lymph nodes in my armpit. My life turned upside down not in the blink of an eye, but in the squish of a breast.

The ensuing days were filled with my body being poked, prodded, scanned, and cut all in preparation for an extensive regimen of breast cancer treatment, which started with chemotherapy one month later. Next week Thursday, I will officially finish my seventeenth infusion of the drug, Herceptin, which will be the last of my breast cancer treatment. 

The scars where my breasts used to be are not my only scars. The mental and emotional toll of the past year has been relentless. Hope, my ever faithful companion, has made a game of playing hookie, and so regret and despair snuggle closer to me on the sofa. The clearance to start running has made the most difference in my psyche, besides, of course, the love of friends and family. Yes, running! Whatever it is, this running habit that started decades ago in high school is the one thing that I can genuinely tell is helping me feel better - mind, body, and soul. 

The journey continues. The next big event will be breast reconstruction surgery at the end of August. If anyone is keeping score, surgery has been postponed by a month - giving my treatment damaged vessels a little more time to recover. In the meantime, I'm doing my darndest to prepare for a successful surgery, part of which involves playing with my favorite grandson in the backyard kiddie pool.