Being in the majority is cool!

Let me just state that what brought on the topic of this post was my most recent PET Scan.

You spend most of your life thinking you're nestled safely in the majority of all statistics. If I told you that 0.625% of people will spontaneously combust, you're probably not gonna go running for the fire extinguisher. You'd probably wager big that you'd fall into the 99.375% of the people that would be just fine (I'd take those odds!). As a young woman, I had a 0.625% chance of getting breast cancer ("young" is considered to be less than 40). Right before my diagnosis I had been told over and over that it wasn't possibly cancer and that I was too young. The shock of diagnosis hit me, my family, and my friends *that* much harder.

Now I've finished treatment and because of my triple negative breast cancer, there is no further therapy I can do to try to prevent a recurrence. I have had all the odds stacked up against me: my age, the triple negative status, my BRCA gene mutation, and my stage IIIA at diagnosis. So I hit the cancer with everything they've got. The most potent chemo, the most severe surgery, and even a "boost" on top of all the radiation treatments are all that shield me from a recurrence. Now I am pushed into the world of "survivorship" and everywhere I turn I'm faced with frightening statistics. With my super-aggressive type of breast cancer, I'm looking at a 30% chance of developing a recurrence and a 15% chance I won't see my 35th birthday? And these are "good" statistics? Now if I told you that you had a 30% chance of spontaneously combusting, I bet you'd be standing ready with the fire extinguisher, a garden hose, and the fire department's phone number on speed dial.

Now you can start to see some of the anxiety that I, as a survivor, have to live with. Every ache and pain in my body I immediately think is a metastasis (spreading of the breast cancer to other parts of the body). If I have a headache, it's brain mets. If I have a pain in my back, it's bone mets. If I have pain under my expanders (which I should! the tissue has been cut out and fried by radiation) then I think it's a recurrence. So yes, I am very happy to be done with treatment but as long as I'm living under this constant worry then I don't feel "cancer free". (I have been told, however, that with each clean scan the worry lessens.)

11 down, 17 to go...

After two weeks of radiation I'm still doing very well. I have just started having a tint of pink on my skin and my eyes are slightly droopy, but nothing very difficult at all. My Radiation Oncologist says the side effects will really start to hit me this week and next.

I experienced a few days of panic this week when I went to log on to my health insurance page and it said my insurance had been cancelled effective May 31st. I was pretty hysterical calling the health insurance company and my HR department trying to figure out what had happened. It had to be a mistake, right? They can't just drop you without telling you! It turns out that it was, in fact, a mistake. My HR had me entered into the system as terminated (I'm pretty sure Arnold Schwarzenegger had something to do with this) so they fixed the glitch. I have health insurance back and no break in coverage. Hooray! This got me thinking how much I treasure my health insurance right now. For most people it is a safety net, but for me it is the parachute when you're skydiving. I definitely had an "Oh S@#$" moment this week when I pulled the cord and the chute didn't open!

Cancer Threat Levels

I had my first blip on the worry radar. I came home from work with chills and a fever of 101.5 oF. My oncology nurse told me when that happens, to call the doctor on-call and go to the hospital. Why is a silly fever such a concern? My immune system is being torn down by these chemo drugs (an unfortunate side effect) so fighting infections is like Delaware declaring war against the U.S. Sorry, little friend, it's not going to end well.

We called the doctor and he said to take Tylenol and go to bed, and if I still had a fever in the morning (I didn't) to go to the hospital. *phew* Got through that one. Then I noticed how much it had worried my friends (they were ready to drive to my house in the middle of the night and take me to the hospital themselves), which got me thinking about how to manage other people's worry.

Thus was born... the "Cancer Threat Levels".

Cancer Threat Pink: All is good
Cancer Threat Yellow: Slightly elevated worry (i.e. fever), no hospital visit, being monitored
Cancer Threat Orange: Elevated worry, going to the hospital
Cancer Threat Red: Hospital admittance, get your butts over to my bedside and take care of me



"Worrying is like a rocking chair. It'll give you something to do, but it won't get you anywhere. Write that down."