Deported

It’s been ages since my last post, and telling you that I have a lot to update is a bit of an understatement. I’ll stick to the facts and try get straight to the point. Since I last wrote, I finished physical therapy, had a mammogram, my last round of Herceptin, and my port removed. 

At the end of February I had my 6 month follow up with Dr. Grissom, my surgeon, as well as my yearly mammogram. I managed to get an appointment for a mammogram the day after seeing Dr. Grissom and I wasn’t fully prepared for the anxiety that would come with it. As I sat in the waiting room and watched women come and go, I started to think about all the potential outcomes. I was texting with my sister in law, Molly, the whole time as I was waiting and she asked if I was nervous.

“Kind of," I replied.

Meanwhile, I was scared shitless. They finally called my name and I followed the technician into a room, where I apologized for the fact that it was now 3pm and I hadn’t been able to wear deodorant all day. It was warm that day, too. Use your imagination. 

“Oh, I see this all the time, don’t even worry … ok, tight squeeze.”

My left breast was still sore and they had to squeeze extra tight right on the area of my lumpectomy. Several deep breaths and it was over, and I made my way back to the waiting room to wait for my results. What felt like an eternity later, I was called back by another technician.

“The doctor wants me to get one more image from a different angle, just to be extra sure. She didn’t tell me why, just that she wanted more images of the right breast.”

“Fuck, this is it. The cancer is back on the other side and I’m going to start this all over again," I thought to myself.

Back to the waiting room I went. I sat, and sat, and sat some more when finally a nice lady called me back.

“Go ahead and take a seat.”

I must have stared at her with a blank look on my face because I didn’t move an inch toward the chair. My heart was pounding and my hands were starting to shake.

“Please take a seat.”

I think I squeaked out a feeble “ok”, as I sat in the chair.

“Before I give you the good news …”

SHE HAS GOOD NEWS! Hallelujah! She went on to tell me that the reason the doctor asked for another angle of images is because I have very dense breast tissue and it helps them see everything more clearly. Everything looked normal and I can go back next February! I will still have to get an MRI every August, as well, which I’m sure will be just as nerve wracking, but I’ll deal with it when the time comes. Right now, I’m celebrating my healthy boobs!

A couple weeks after my mammogram I had my last round of Herceptin. It was a bittersweet moment. I was elated to be done with this part of my treatment, but also struggling to imagine my life without it. It had been a constant for the past year, a steady stream of modern medicine that helped me kick this cancer. What now? As they unhooked the meds from my port for the last time, I gave Dr. Jeske a hug and made an appointment to see her in three months. Was that it? Am I seriously done? Yep, sure am.

With the end of my Herceptin treatments also came the removal of my port. Last Thursday Dr. Grissom did the honors and took that sucker out. Again, it was bittersweet. Am I glad to have this thing out of my chest? Absolutely! I’d forgotten what my chest looked like without the bulge of my port. But it was a part of me and I still find myself touching the spot where the tube extended up to my collarbone. It’s not there anymore but the habit of feeling for it is going to be a hard one to break. I feel vulnerable without it in. It’s like my port was my superhero badge and with it, I could beat anything. At least I still have the cool scar. I can’t tell you how many people have told me, “You must feel so relieved to have it gone.” While that’s one emotion I absolutely feel, fear is right there with it.

I officially move into the survivorship phase of this journey now and navigating those waters is interesting. Most of the time, it’s daily life as normal. I don’t think about cancer all the time and sometimes, it seems like it was all a crazy dream. But there are days that are hard and when that happens, I let myself cry but I never dwell on it. I try remind myself that I’m lucky. So incredibly lucky. I’m a survivor now and it’s a title I earned. In a couple weeks I’m headed to Maui by myself to attend a surf camp with other young adult cancer survivors. I’m excited for the week and can’t wait for this experience! I don’t remember the last time I was in a bathing suit, but I’ll wear it proudly, with a lot of very high SPF.

xo,

Ali