Category: What Happened?

Another Oncology Visit and “Not Being Good Enough”

(Title image: Photo by Nik on Unsplash)

“I see pharmacological interventions in your future” is a paraphrasing of what my oncologist told me at my last doctor’s visit.

So let me back up a bit. I had my “eight-years-since-finishing-chemo” appointment with my oncologist last week. Things went the way they’ve been going for a while. He was very pleased with how things have been going and that made me feel very positive.

Certainly, I have my share of stressors churning at the moment, but most of them are not health-related. Most.

When my oncologist reviewed my bone density reports, however, he made the same prediction that he has during my previous two visits with him (see his quote above). The issue is that my bone scan in 2019 showed osteopenia, which I have to say is pretty weird given my lifestyle, which includes a lot of strength training. We both thought that perhaps it was an issue with the way the numbers were calculated.

Unfortunately, my 2024 bone scan showed a significant loss of bone compared to 2019. Enough to really concern my oncologist and befuddle us both.

So despite my living the lifestyle that medical guidelines say I’m “supposed to” live in order to stay healthy and strong, it’s still not good enough.

Tried as hard as you could? Well, too bad, try harder.
(Photo by Mads Schmidt Rasmussen on Unsplash)

This harkens back to what I experienced after being diagnosed with breast cancer. It seemed like I had done everything I could to lessen my chances of getting cancer, including things that should have been protective, but there I was, a breast cancer patient, and a young one at that (which, I later learned, what one of the reasons the risk factors didn’t necessarily apply to me, but I didn’t know that at the time).

It drove my perfectionistic mind haywire.

It brought on feelings of helplessness and even despair.

The only thing that gave me a bit of a lift was learning to meditate. Meditation imparted a sense that I had a teensy bit of control, if not on the situation, at least in the way that I reacted to it.

I got through that period of my life, brushed myself off and went on. And for a while, I was feeling blessed.

But cancer treatments have long-term effects. And the repercussions of being pushed through menopause and being on endocrine therapy eventually caught up to me. Physical movements that used to be easy started to hurt. I lost muscle mass…and apparently, I lost bone too. I felt like I was treading water with a weight tied around me.

Never good enough.

So I am bearing down and reworking my diet and exercise program even more. And to be honest, this is also an opportunity to shed some of my perfectionistic tendencies. While I want to feel like I am doing everything I can to help stop my bone loss and avoid taking medication for it, I need to learn to give myself grace. Sometimes even doing everything “right” will not be 100% successful, and I have to be okay with that.

Year 8 Mammogram: Can’t Shake This Feeling

(Title image: Photo by 🐣 Luca Iaconelli 🦊 on Unsplash)

A couple of weeks ago, I had my 8-year 3-D mammogram. To be clear, this is eight years following the original diagnostic 2-D mammogram and ultrasound that identified my breast cancer tumor.

This far down the road, the situation seems much less dire. The mammogram takes place shortly after one of my visits to the oncologist, who does a manual breast exam. So if anything should show up on the 3-D mammogram, it would still be quite early stage.

And at this point in my life, my greatest fear is not something showing up on a mammogram, it’s something showing up on another scan elsewhere in my body, because that would mean metastasis.

I’m busy, busy, busy. Too busy to worry, right? RIGHT?
(Photo by Dan Freeman on Unsplash)

But that was not the case this year. I was preoccupied with other concerns including a car purchase, the upcoming practicum for my yoga4cancer training and an NIH grant renewal for the lab I work in. The main thing that I was thinking of regarding the mammogram was how badly my ribs might hurt as I was pulled closer into the scanner and smushed up against the machine.

And also, how sleep deprived my husband and I would be since we had an early morning appointment. Following which I needed to get to the office, while catching a webinar on the way. Lots of stuff to juggle.

So that’s the mindset with which I arrived at the imaging center. And that’s what was going through my head as I made small-talk with the friendly technician and went through the scanning process.

But then she left the room to bring the scans to the attending radiologist’s attention. Note: at our imagining center, if you are a cancer survivor, the radiologist reads your scans while you’re in the imaging room so that you don’t have to wait for results via phone call, through an online notification or—even worse—via the mail. You get them then and there.

Before the tech left she offered me use of the bathroom. I didn’t need it, but I realized that while waiting for the results I needed to keep my mind busy. Off to the bathroom I went, feeling into my feet as I walked like a good little mindful girl.

My big burning ball of cancer experience has quite a long memory tail!
(Photo by Jacob Dyer on Unsplash)

So again, it’s been eight years. I’ve had quite a few mammograms and other scans in that time. I’ve gotten a lot better about dealing with them and I certainly don’t experience severe “scanxiety” with mammograms.

But when I was done with the bathroom and sat back down in the imagining room with the monolithic mammography machine quietly staring back at me, I wanted to be done with it. I wanted to be dressing and leaving and on my way to the next thing.

Again, it’s been eight years, but I had to grab my phone and distract myself with work emails so that I wouldn’t think about anything else.

EIGHT YEARS, people! Cancer is like a fiery comet with a long tail that is visible for years after the thing itself passes.

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Oh! I got a clean bill of health. Good to go for another year!

8 Year Cancer-versary and Everything Hurts

(Title image: Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash)

This past weekend marked eight years since my breast cancer diagnosis and I recently had another oncologist appointment.

Over the years my appointments have become lighthearted. This one was not so much.

While I was concerned about the migraine auras that I’d been experiencing in the fall of last year, my oncologist had called me in November 2024 with the results of my bone density scan: I’d lost more bone and was deeper in osteopenia.

To be fair, I don’t even know how much more. It had been strange to find myself labeled with osteopenia when I had my first bone density scan over five years ago. Neither my oncologist nor I could understand it. I live a very active life with frequent workouts, including a lot of strength training. By all accounts I should have strong bones. At the time, we figured it was something to do with algorithms applied to the bone density data and my bones were actually in better shape.

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!
(Photo by julien Tromeur on Unsplash)

This time around, it was worse. Since the first measurement, I’d had two years of tamoxifen and one of aromatase inhibitors. That didn’t help. But all the exercise? Did it not matter? Apparently not enough.

That was frustrating on its own. But to add to that frustration, I’ve been hit with injuries. My left shoulder, my left hip and most recently my lower back.

Each one of these has taken a toll on my exercise schedule and I will likely have to seek out physical therapy for at least the shoulder. At least. The hip I have been able to manage to a certain extent. Then I tweaked my lower back rowing about two weeks ago…I kept working out, more gingerly for sure…until I managed to re-tweak my back because apparently I am incapable of leaving things well enough alone.

On the bright side, the pain in my back made me completely forget the pain in my hip. Which is not to say that there is no pain, just that it pales in comparison to back spasms.

My oncologist offered to order a spinal scan for me. I graciously declined—I’m pretty darn sure it’s just my back muscles—but his concern is valid. If I’m lifting weights with increasingly porous bones, he’s worried about spinal compression fractures.

I guess he won’t have to worry about it now. I’ve been smacked in the face with a healthy dose of humility. No, I had no intention of pulling back on my workouts, but doing so is unavoidable. The amount of weight I can lift without injury has steadily decreased (injury by injury) and with this last helping of pain, I have to face reality. I need to completely rehaul my workouts along with my expectations.

Just sittin’ and chillin’ and dreamin’ of strong bones.
(Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash)

Perhaps most importantly, I need to not view this as a failure on my part. Because while I knew that eventually that day would come, I was not prepared to actually accept that it was here. I was still trying to “work my way back up” to where I was before, even when I knew that it was unrealistic.

After all, I remind myself, the fact that I need to adopt a slightly gentler approach to my workouts is a sign of success: the reason I need to be more careful now is because I have survived this long past my diagnosis. That’s not a punishment or a capitulation. It is, in fact, a blessing and a luxury that many cancer patients don’t have.

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What now? I am resistant to bone-building bisphosphonates at this time, for a variety of reasons (hello, side effects). I want to see if I can stop/slow the bone loss on my own. I have the exercise part down, no problem. But to be completely honest, my dietary intake of calcium was very low. I had every intention of supplementing with calcium after my first bone density scan, but got spooked by the potential for heart issues.

Since then, I’ve learned about the importance of Vitamin K2 and the Japanese fermented bean natto, which has loads of it and makes sure calcium gets to the bones instead of the heart. I’ve re-started the calcium supplements with a daily serving of the fermented stuff. You could say, I’ve become an aficio-natto.

And now that I am forced to back off the intense exercise, I have the opportunity to focus on mobility work, stretching and rehabilitation as I discover what body parts are going to need the attention of a physical therapist. We’ll see how this new approach to fitness works.

Revisiting Radiation Tattoos

(Title image: Photo by FlyD on Unsplash)

I came across a story from November 2024 about actress Nicole Eggert (“Baywatch”, “Charles in Charge”) discussing her breast cancer diagnosis.

While I admit that I hadn’t watched any of her acting projects, I could completely relate to her reaction to preparing for radiation therapy.

The article focuses on an Instagram post that she made after leaving a doctor’s appointment during which she received her radiation tattoos, expressing surprise at the fact that they were, in fact, actual tattoos.

As the article continues, “She then started to cry as she realized just how permanent the tattoo would be. ‘And it’s minor, it’s nothing but dots, but boy, every step of this process is never gonna let you forget it, there’s just always going to be a constant reminder.’”

This really resonated with me because I had a similar reaction to getting my own radiation tattoos. I had never had an interest in getting any kind of tattoo myself. But now, with cancer, nothing was under my control anymore. It felt like my body was not my own.

Nope, never wanted a tattoo. But had to get four anyway (minus the pretty flowers).
(Photo by Lucas Lenzi on Unsplash)

And I remember being told that now I was going to get tattooed, just like that. No fanfare or anything. I don’t remember being told in advance, although I would not be surprised if I had and it simply hadn’t registered. I felt helpless a lot of the time and I had hoped that after chemo I could get a sense of self-ownership back. But the tattoos were a big “NOPE” to that!

I agree with Nicole, it’s the permanence of these things and even the long-term nature of some of the side effects of cancer treatment that add to the emotional impact of the disease.

I don’t know much about Nicole’s tattoos, but because I am pale with lots of moles already, my tattoos were blue to distinguish them from everything else on my skin. So while they were just small dots, to me they were very visible when I looked in the mirror.

My post about the experience (“I Didn’t Expect THAT: Radiation Tattoos“) talks a bit more about this. Now, almost 8 years later, I’ve made peace with the blue dots in the same way that I’ve tried to accept my scars and aches and whatever else has hung around since treatment.

Made peace, yes. But like the tattoos, although their sharpness fades, the memory remains.

An Eyeball Update…and Unfortunate Addendum

(Title image: Photo by Anastasiya Badun on Unsplash)

Last Wednesday, I had a follow-up appointment with my ophthalmologist regarding the visual migraine auras I’d experienced during the second half of last year. [Read through to the end to see what happened a few days later on Sunday.]

I had gone to see her on November 22nd after the aura frequency had increased, and at that point, imaging of my eyes revealed little hemorrhages in both eyeballs, leading my doc to fear that something was exerting pressure, eliciting auras and busting little blood vessels.

And by “something”, she meant possibly a cause as serious as a tumor.

This time around, however, the hemorrhages were gone, healed on their own. As I mentioned in a previous post, my auras had ceased too. And even my eyeballs were not looking as parched as they had before.

Everything had improved. How often does that happen?

While I expected some improvement by virtue of the fact that I was no longer experiencing visual disturbances, I was a little surprised by the complete reversal. My eyeballs looked better than they had even during my first appointment with the eye doctor some months ago.

So we talked about the effects that stress might have had on me, since I had incorporated all sorts of anti-anxiety measures. My opthalmologist is very supportive of meditation and whatever else it takes to calm oneself down. She was very relieved that there was such a marked improvement.

And this made me think about how the extra effort I’d put into being mindful, pausing during the day, increasing meditation time and the like had really paid off. Simply taking the time to look around and notice how I felt, to evaluate the pressures that I was under, to be aware and present…all of this helped me realize where there were things that I could do to change what was happening.

The concept of self-efficacy comes to mind here. Because after going through a cancer journey where everything seems out of my hands, it’s refreshing to have the experience of being able to get a positive response from lifestyle changes.

And, yes, I have to admit: I am making assumptions here. I am assuming that in fact, the visual migraine auras were caused by a pile-on of factors that included anxiety, grief and depression. I am assuming that by being more self-aware of what I was going through, engaging in holistic methods for calming myself and showing self-compassion, even the increased consumption of theobromine, all worked together to help me get a handle on the emotional storm that I’d been facing. I could be completely wrong.

But you know what? It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that all these things were exactly what I needed.

Perhaps it’s not as simplistic as taking deeper breaths. But those self-soothing techniques do not hurt.

Of course, the trick now is to not get complacent. Life is still tough, and I know that I have some challenges coming up this year. Even the greatest techniques do no good if you start cutting corners.

But after the uncertainty of last year, the pain and the loss, once again I get the satisfaction of knowing that as difficult as it seems to be, I can survive this.

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ADDENDUM

The trick now is to not get complacent. I feel like I’m eating my words.

I had felt very positive when I wrote the first draft of this post last Friday. But perhaps after almost two months of no auras, I might have assumed that I was done with them.

Yesterday (Sunday), while driving in the car, I experienced another aura. It was “milder” and a little shorter than most, but *groan* it was still an aura. My heart sank.

A few days ago I had noticed that I was experiencing that involuntary sighing reflex again. I didn’t think much of it because, hey, I had everything under control, right? I guess not.

So today my mind is more unfocused, possibly additional stress from life or anxiety over the fact that I just had another aura after things were going so well. Honestly, I don’t know which. All I know is that auras are not going to simply disappear from my life altogether. I guess I should have expected a relapse.

Darn it.

“It’s Not a Toomah”: My Aura Theory

(Title image: Photo by Daniele Levis Pelusi on Unsplash)

I’ve written in my blog that I was experiencing strange visual disturbances, most likely visual migraine auras. Note: I’ve never experienced migraine pain.

This is particularly worrisome for me as a survivor of triple-positive breast cancer, as there is a greater chance of that type of cancer metastasizing to the brain. Presumably, a growing tumor could restrict blood flow to areas of the brain that could result in me seeing strange things.

This was of great concern to my ophthalmologist. However, there was no pain associated with the auras, and pain would have been expected (but not necessarily required) if the auras were caused by a tumor.

There were other confounding variables, too. Since the summer of 2024, shortly before my father’s death, I had noticed that I was doing a lot of involuntary “sighing”. I’d experienced this type of sighing before, but this time it kept going for months, sometimes occurring a number of times an hour.

Naturally I googled it, and Dr. Google pointed out that excessive sighing was potentially associated with undiagnosed anxiety and depression. When I finally started writing out all my stressors, it because obvious to me that I had been far more deeply affected by what was going on in my life than I imagined.

So, after my appointments on Nov 22, I took time to grieve my father’s death, which I hadn’t done up to then. I thought I had accepted his passing and moved on, but clearly I hadn’t. I sought hugs and solace from family members and expressed what I was feeling.

My last aura was on Nov 29th. After that, along with allowing space for grief, I expanded my time in meditation, added up to an hour of breathwork a day and even included a daily cup of ceremonial-grade cacao (for the theobromine).

Mindfulness took a front seat. I paused at various points of the day to simply take deep breaths. I paid attention to what my body was doing and what thoughts were running through my mind. I made a concerted effort to show compassion to myself, more than I had in a long time.

The auras did not come back. As of this writing, it has been 45 days since the last aura. I had been having them once a week, and at their worst, a couple a week and even two on one evening.

I am well aware of the power of the mind. My educational background is in graduate-level psychology and I myself have experienced psychosomatic pain before. But honestly, I never expected to have such a striking response to anxiety/depression/grief.

I have searched for a good visual representation of an aura and it’s hard to find one that actually reflects what I was experiencing. It was something like this:

This is not exactly what it looks like for me, as some of my auras have been “thicker” and more “stained glass-like” in color, looking more zigzagged (as if the entire half-circle is made up of triangular pieces of vividly bright LED-like colors). Also, mine were gone within about 20 minutes.

That’s not an insignificant reaction to something that is going on in my head. My brain created those auras. That is amazing.

I should mention, I never had an MRI so technically a tumor cannot be ruled out. And neither can some other cause that I have not considered. However, the fact that my auras stopped after I put concerted effort into exploring my anxiety, acknowledging depression and recognizing that I was not okay with the pressures I was under suggests that it’s probably not a tumor.

All I Want for Christmas is No More Auras

(Title image: Photo by Brian Suh on Unsplash)

This was supposed to be a post for USA residents about how to find some harmony during the Thanksgiving holiday amidst the tensions brought by relatives with strongly differing views of the world. Such disagreements are always a possibility when families get together, but likely even worse this year.

But, no. Instead, I’m sitting here wearing sunglasses in a darkened room as I plink out this post.

Remember those shimmering scythe-shaped mosaics (auras) that I wrote about intruding on my vision some weeks ago? The ones that are associated with ocular migraines, but in my case minus any headache? Well, they’re still happening and with greater frequency.

Depending on which of my healthcare professionals you talk to, they either want to (1) wait and see how things progress or (2) shove me into an MRI tube ASAP.

Trying to keep my sense of humor…

And me? I really want to not be dealing with this issue. After seven years of putting a lot of space between my cancer diagnosis and the present moment, I am getting stressed by the possibility of this being something quite serious. And all I wanted was to enjoy the upcoming holiday season.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Here are the details: I’ve now had seven of these episodes in about two months—I’m not even sure when the very first one was. After the last one (which was the second of two last week), I left a message with my ophthalmologist.

However, it was my oncologist who happened to call a few hours later, completely coincidentally, to give me unrelated scan results.

So, since I had him on the line, I told him about the auras. He sounded sad. And you know what? You never want your oncologist to sound sad, especially when they’re usually so good at being neutral when delivering news.

And then my ophthalmologist called back late that afternoon, urging me to see my primary care doctor as soon as possible and also schedule an appointment with her for the next day.

Next day, I snag a morning appointment with my primary care provider, explain the situation and the fact that I have no other symptoms other than the auras. Her take: this is very weird, yes…but it’s a hard sell to get this to qualify for an MRI at this time, even with the frequency. With my consent, she wanted to wait for a little bit and see whether the auras continued.

Or, I guess, until my head exploded or something.

Find a happy place, find a happy place, find a happy place…
(Photo by serjan midili on Unsplash)

When I saw my ophthalmologist that afternoon, she was extremely concerned and incredulous that an MRI wasn’t the first course of action. I could tell that she felt waiting was a bad idea.

But ultimately, she acquiesed to the notion that we’ll wait, although she’s sending a synopsis of her findings to my primary. She instructed me to take excruciatingly detailed notes the next time one of these auras occurs

And if you’re still reading this far down and are convinced that my goose is cooked, maybe it isn’t. Sure this whole experience is stressing me out. But there are far too many confounding variables present to resign myself to the fact that I’ll be getting my head shaved again soon…variables which I might be writing about in a future post…

…or I’ll be talking about my ride in the MRI tube and subsquent diagnosis.

But for now, I’m going to rest my eyes in a darkened room and think of silky fur on a contentedly purring kitten.

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For everyone in the USA, have a wonderful Thankgiving with your lovely families this Thursday…and let’s all try to keep it civil.

Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds: And Now…My Eyes?

(Title image: Photo by Adam Gonzales on Unsplash)

So one of the hardest things for me about having cancer was losing a sense of security. Suddenly my body was out to get me, without my knowledge, while I was basking in a false sense of security that everything was okay.

Dealing with uncertainty is tough. It made me painfully aware of my own mortality before I was ready for it. It was as if cancer became my midlife crisis.

But it wasn’t just that I had to deal with not having guarantees about my own health (I mean, do we ever really have that?), about cancer not bothering me again. It also brought uncertainty about whether strange feelings in my body meant something.

I got to a point where I was afraid of anything, real or imagined, that I felt in my body. And after doing that for a while and completely exhausting myself, I called it quits and stopped running to the doctor for every little thing.

But now…I’m wondering if I’m kidding myself?

About a week ago, I had a weird thing happen. I was shopping at a market with my daughter. We were almost done when I noticed a funny change in my vision.

This wasn’t what I saw, but the colors were just as bright and vibrant.
(Photo by Randy Bayne on Unsplash)

I started seeing rings, the best way I can describe them is as if they were stained glass rings of vibrant colors, like an OLED screen, kind of like what you might see in a beautiful kaleidoscope. They were noticible, but didn’t take over all of my visual field. And YES, they were freaky. The entire show lasted about 20 minutes and primarily affected my left eye.

Then they faded away.

At that point, I recalled that I had experienced something similar, but without the vibrant colors, a few months ago. Again, I had been at a store and noticed a funny change in my vision, zigzagged lines.

That time it also didn’t last very long. Neither one of these episodes was associated with headaches.

Now we have a situation.

My oncologist always asks about visual disturbances, like seeing things that aren’t there, shadows, headaches, severe loss of balance. As a triple positive breast cancer survivor, I know this is because of possible metastases to the brain.

But instead of calling him last week to tell him what happened, I paused. I had done some research on the internet about these types of phenomena, and it’s quite possible that I’m experiencing ocular (acephalgic) migraines…again, without the headache. I’ll have to see if those rings/zigzags happen again, but at this point, with the amount of upheaval that I’ve experienced over the past few months (including the death of a parent)…and the fact that both times these visual oddities happened in stores with bright overhead lighting, well, let’s just say “brain tumor” doesn’t strike me as the most likely cause.

Yes, yes, yes, I will reach out to my oncologist this week. Probably, maybe. And if I do, I will ask to wait before being required to take another ride in the MRI tube. I’ve learned that at times like this, it is best to take a breath, stay present and wait for more information before proceeding.

Aging Muscle: After Cancer Treatment and Menopause [PHOTOS]

(Title image: Photo by Samuel Girven on Unsplash)

This is a reality check to demonstrate how, even with the greatest of intentions and planning, coupled with a serious love of exercise, you can’t turn back time.

And that’s okay.

But first, the comparison. Taken from this previous post, here’s a photo right before I started chemotherapy for triple-positive breast cancer, April 27, 2017:

April 27, 2017: I was exercising with a vengeance

After finishing chemo, radiation and Herceptin, AND after two years of estrogen-lowering Tamoxifen and a year into Letrozole, I’d lost some muscle even though I was lifting as heavy as I could.

This photo is from December 11, 2020:

December 11, 2020: Still exercising with a vengeance, but…

While I was still working out hard, endocrine therapy and menopause took their toll on my progress. Interestingly, estrogen is not simply a “feminizing” hormone; in women, it also helps preserve both muscle and bone mass. Menopause puts the breaks on estrogen production.

This becomes worrying as we age because less estrogen means weaker muscles which can lead to a greater risk of falls and chance of bone fractures. Endocrine therapy, which is designed to decrease the estrogen in the body in order to lessen the recurrence risk of hormone-sensitive breast cancer, adds to the problem.

And more than seven years after the top photo, this was taken today before posting, September 23, 2024:

September 23, 2024: New phone, different lighting (sorry!), more wrinkles, same moles. I’m working hard just to keep what I have, but loss is inevitable.

I’m still lifting but the entire landscape of my workout routines has changed. I have to give myself more recovery time between strength training sessions. I am much more susceptible to injuries—seriously, I can tweak something by turning or stretching out in a weird way. I have neuropathy in my feet which makes getting up on my toes (such as in plank or doing lunges) painful.

We recently had an intense heat wave: for a week the temperature inside our apartment didn’t fall below 80F degrees, and during the day it climbed as high as 95F degrees (again, INSIDE our apartment). I managed to work out through a chunk of that week, but the heat eventually got to me. And recovering from that took almost another week.

So, the spirit is willing but the flesh is barely managing at times.

However, there is an upside to being 58 years old with a lifetime of fitness experience. I still love working out. Even tough training sessions are manageable because they feel like an awesome accomplishment, and I feel bouyed afterwards.

Even on the days that I don’t do a formal workout, I make sure that I’m moving as much as I can. Fitness is an integral part of my life, even though it looks different now than it did seven years ago. In the post that I reference earlier, at the very bottom I wrote about how yoga was becoming a larger part of my life.

And that’s continued. Through my yoga teacher training in 2022 and upcoming yoga4cancer advanced training starting in January 2025, this direction feels so right for me.

While I don’t plan to give up my gym sessions anytime soon, yoga has given me a path to physical and mental fitness as I age. I am gradually moving into a more meditative approach to exercise that is less about intensity and more about staying healthy by integrating mind and body.

I Saw My Oncologist…and Left Ridiculously Happy

(Title image: Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash)

Yep, this is another installment of “I had another oncologist appointment today”. This time I’m marking seven years since completing my chemo treatment, which I can assure you at the time was a very happy event…

…marred only by that little nail infection a few weeks later. But don’t go there unless you have a strong stomach.

Regardless, I had a great meeting with my oncologist. The concern now is about whether I’m experiencing anything cancer-related, either long-term side effects or—perish the thought—a recurrence. Today the answer was neither.

We talked about the recent death of my father…and that’s pretty much the way the appointment went–catching up on the last six months. Naturally, I forgot to tell him about a bunch of the other concerns I had, little weird things in my body. But really, they’re not unusual given what I’ve gone through.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I need to slow down when interpreting body sensations as health problems. Usually they’re not. (Even though once they were cancer.)
(Photo by LOGAN WEAVER | @LGNWVR on Unsplash)

We did, however, discuss how it takes a little while to get used to all those sensations in your body. After cancer, I was on high alert. My medical team was asking detailed questions about what I was feeling, and as a result, I was laser-focused on every twitch and twinge…and maybe some that I just imagined. At one point, I was sent for a brain MRI because of what I feared were serious cognitive issues. But in reality it was anxiety, not a tumor.

Seven years out, however, you kinda get expect all those funny sensations and don’t interpret them as being dangerous anymore. Even the heart palpitations that I would get from time to time…yeah, I still get those, maybe once a week, maybe a couple of times a month. But they only last a handful of seconds and I no longer think that my heart is failing (especially not when I can turn around and do a HIIT workout). I haven’t been back to the cardiologist and my oncologist agrees that it’s not necessary.

He asked if I wanted to come back in six months. Sure, I like being back in the Cancer Center as *NOT* a cancer patient. It’s nice being there and remembering doing jigsaw puzzles in the radiation oncology waiting room, or even feeling well-taken-care of after my treatments were done. There ARE positive memories in a place that you’d think would only be negative.

That can change very quickly, of course. But for the time being, I’m feeling happy.