Oncologist – Frantic Shanti

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.

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.

All I Want for Christmas is No More Auras

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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.

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.

Unexpected News at my 7-Year Oncology Appointment

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A few days ago I had my seven-year post-diagnosis appointment with my oncologist. Seven whole years. And it was a weird conversation.

He said something that set me aback. He told me that he didn’t think I should worry about the cancer coming back. Essentially, I was cured (note: MY words, not his, but that’s the idea). [See bottom of post for disclaimer!]

He’s alluded to this before during previous appointments. But this time around felt different.

I’ve officially hit SEVEN!
(Photo by Himiway Bikes on Unsplash)

I returned home a bit confused. See, for the last seven years, I’ve been a full-on cancer survivor. Still holding on to the fear that at any moment, I would get those terrifying scan results back and–WHAM–I’m a cancer patient once more, back on that sickening rollercoaster ride through treatment.

As difficult as it was to accept that–even trying my best to live a healthy life–I had somehow been smacked down by cancer…now, I had a new problem. Reentering life as maybe not-so-much a cancer survivor anymore, but rather just a healthy, active postmenopausal woman with years ahead of her.

And that is a weird feeling.

For the first five years after my diagnosis, I was frustrated, even angry. Cancer was a devastating detour at a time when I was already struggling to find my way back into a career. Well, forget that. Derailed. I was bitter.

Eventually, I realized that while life sucked, it sucked for a lot of people and I wasn’t special in that regard. That was an important turning point in how I perceived my own role in my cancer story–it was humbling but also gratifying.

Humbling because my experience could have been so much worse. There were people whose treatment did not end well. I was incredibly fortunate, even when it felt like I’d been thrown in a sack and beaten with sticks. At least, I made it out.

Gratifying because early on I held myself responsible for getting cancer, even though I had literally done everything protective (lots of exercise, high fitness, plant-based diet, breastfeeding, not smoking, not drinking) that I could think of. I was desperate with frustration and helplessness about this. Letting go of that guilt was healing.

Feels like I’ve got the green light to hurry up and get on with the rest of my life now.
(Photo by Possessed Photography on Unsplash)

So the last two years have been more about understanding my perspective and then stepping out of it to view things more objectively. Mindfulness and meditation helped with that, which is why I often write about them here. But I hadn’t been ready to get out of the breakdown lane and drive myself back into mainstream life, in part fearful of the pain of having the expectation of cancer-free “normality” smashed to smithereens by a potential diagnosis.

Gradually, that’s changed. But this last appointment felt like getting shoved out the door by someone yelling, “YOU’RE OKAY, DAMMIT!” Here I am, standing and blinking in the sunlight, trying to make sense of exactly what that means for me now. Wow, after seven years, I can actually stop being afraid.

I don’t know if I even remember what that feels like.

Yes, I’m still going to refer to myself as a survivor, because it’s a part of my natural history. I’m never going to forget that experience and I continue to be driven by a need to support others going through this disease.

And if it does return? Well, at least I will have had a brief glimpse of life completely outside the notion of cancer.

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Of course, because we’re talking about cancer, the statements above call for level-headness in the midst of levity. While my oncologist feels that the chances of the same cancer coming back are low, the possibility for a brand spankin’ new tumor, breast or otherwise, never goes away. It happened once, it can happen again. But that’s life. I’ll take it.

“So, What Should We Talk About?”: My Six-Year, End-of-Chemo Appointment

A little over a week ago, I had another oncological appointment. This one marked my six years since completing chemo for triple positive breast cancer.

Honestly, at this point, the conversation between my doctor and myself has turned much more social. There are not as many pressing matters to discuss. My bloodwork is normal and boring. I don’t have side effects to speak of, at least not any that I can attribute solely to cancer treatment (hello, menopause, ugh). And even my oncologist is openly positive about my future.

Wow, have things changed.

Six years ago I was dealing with the effects of a nasty fingernail infection that landed me in the ER (be forewarned before clicking that link: it was pretty gross!). But for this appointment, I was asking my doc how HE was feeling.

Our conversations have become pleasantly mundane and I enjoy catching up with him. Also, I am panicking less.

As a cancer survivor, I do not like surprises. When my doc says to schedule an exam, I’m going to do it fast!

Much less. Even when I do lapse into micro-panic, I have accompanying moments of calm. That is a definite improvement. At the same time, cancer is cancer. So when my oncologist noticed that I hadn’t had a pelvic exam this year, he told me I needed it. And then before our appointment ended, he repeated that I should get one.

For a brief instant, my emergency alarms went off.

Maybe it was the fact that he repeated himself and seemed very serious about it. After six years of hypervigilance, I still get unnerved by slight shifts in tone of voice. I think that’s hard-wired in me, seared in via anxiety, even though my days of being a hot stress-mess are behind me.

It’s so tempting to wipe my hands off and pretend that everything is normal, but cancer teaches us that some nasty stuff might be lurking under the surface of, “I’m sure it’s nothing”. My days of innocent ignorance are gone.

So, yeah, I’m fine. Still no recurrence of a cancer in my breasts. Probably not anywhere else either. I’ll remain optimistic and look forward to seeing my oncologist in six months and chatting again.

But I’m going to schedule a pelvic exam soon.

“Not Going It Alone”: Complementary Cancer Therapies

With as much sophisticated research as has been done on cancer, it still remains a confounding disease and much of the treatment may seem to be, for lack of a better word, medieval.

So it shouldn’t seem surprising that cancer patients also reach out for less conventional therapy to help themselves through the treatment process.

First, a clarification of terms used in this post:

Acupuncture is utilized as a non-standard treatment (for those who can take more poking)

Conventional medicine: chemotherapy, radiation, surgery, immunotherapy, etc., prescribed by your medical team.
Complementary medicine: non-standard treatment used in conjunction with conventional treatment; also called Integrative Medicine.
Alternative medicine: non-standard treatment used instead of conventional treatment.

Therefore, generally speaking, what distinguishes complementary from alternative medicine is whether it’s used with standard medical treatment.

According to a study (Crudup et al., 2021) that was presented at the 2021 Annual Meeting of the American Society of Clinical Oncology (ASCO), 73% of breast cancer patient participants stated that they employed complementary therapies in their treatment. However, while oncologists were supportive of such therapies, they were not aware of the extent to which their patients utilized them and thought that only 43% of their patients did.

Patients get more benefit from spiritual practices than most oncologists realize

Furthermore, oncologists felt that counseling, support groups, exercise, etc. were the most effective non-standard therapies, in contrast to patients who found great benefit in meditation, mindfulness and spiritual practices. While two-thirds of both patients and oncologists felt that complementary medicine improved quality of life, a majority of patients also felt that it improved their outcomes.

Wayne Jonas, MD, a co-author of this study, says: “Cancer is a complex disease that affects every component of a patient’s life. While conventional medicine is effective for curing disease, it can fall short in helping patients heal. Patients are turning to these therapies to look for hope and to improve their quality of life and well-being after diagnosis… .”

What types of therapies do these include? The website “Cancer Health” provides examples of some complementary treatments (see here for an explanation of each):

Acupuncture
Aromatherapy
Art Therapy
Biofeedback
Cannabis
Herbal Therapies
Labyrinth Walking
Massage
Meditation
Music/Dance Therapy
Qigong
Spirituality
Tai Chi
Traditional Medicine (Ayurvedic, Chinese, etc.)
Vitamins and Supplements
Yoga

[This list is by no means exhaustive.]

I used a number of these complementary therapies myself and can attest to the important role they played in my recovery. As Dr. Jonas points out above, conventional treatments “can fall short in helping patients heal” [emphasis mine], whereas non-standard therapies seem to focus on that aspect.

I believe that these additional therapies, particularly more spiritual ones, are what give us hope throughout the cancer experience. Patients should be encouraged to seek out additional, complementary therapies to help themselves move through treatment, fully supported by their oncologists and ideally also guided by them.

Did you rely on complementary or alternative treatments to help you through your cancer journey?

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REFERENCES

Original Research

Abstract for presentation:

Crudup et al. (2021) Awareness, perceptions, and usage of whole person integrative oncology practices: Similarities and differences between breast cancer patients and oncologists. Presented at 2021 Annual Meeting of the American Society of Clinical Oncology (ASCO), https://meetings.asco.org/abstracts-presentations/200685

Published research article:

Crudup et al. (2021) Breast cancer survivorship and level of institutional involvement utilizing integrative oncology. J Clin Oncol, 39, no. 15_suppl. e18588,
https://www.doi.org/10.1200/JCO.2021.39.15_suppl.e18588

Synopses

The ASCO Post Staff (June 7, 2021; updated June 15, 2021) Use of integrative medicine by patients with breast cancer. ASCO Post, https://ascopost.com/news/june-2021/use-of-integrative-medicine-by-patients-with-breast-cancer/

Tien C (June 28, 2021) Oncologists Underestimate the Number of Breast Cancer Patients Who Use Complementary Medicine. Cancer Health, https://www.cancerhealth.com/article/oncologists-underestimate-number-breast-cancer-patients-use-complementary-medicine

Descriptions of complementary therapies

Living with Cancer: Complementary Therapies. Cancer Health, https://www.cancerhealth.com/basics/health-basics/complementary-therapies

Finally Normal: My Six-Year Oncological Visit

I hit another cancer journey milestone this past week: my six-year oncology appointment.

Like my last few appointments, this one felt commonplace and unintimidating…and if the nurse had let me sit down for a couple of minutes after coming into the exam room, my blood pressure would have been lower. As it was, the reading was not that far from normal.

For the first time since cancer, my bloodwork is all normal!!!

One other thing that was strikingly normal: for the first time in six years, since all the cancer madness began, all my bloodwork, both Complete Blood Count (CBC) and Comprehensive Metabolic Profile (CMP), was completely normal. Nothing that would suggest a year’s worth of cancer treatment in the past.

This is so curious because for years, nothing felt normal.

Now everything is.

Ironically, it was my oncologist who was experiencing illness and I had to switch my appointment time so that he could get to his doctor.

I was hit by the realization that everything that had felt out-of-control and hopeless six years ago no longer existed. I was the one who had kept the idea of cancer alive in myself. I still defined myself as a cancer survivor because perhaps I needed some way to justify what I considered to be my shortcomings, as in, “I used to be able to do this, but…”.

This was a battle I fought in but only memories remain. In the present moment, there’s only silence.

Returning to the cancer center for this appointment felt like I was visiting a battlefield from a war that I had fought long ago. The echoes of battle cries…just the wind. The clashing weapons and falling bodies…not there anymore. This may sound like such an overly theatrical description, but that’s exactly what it seemed like.

This doesn’t mean that I’ve got the rest of my life figured out. There are still so many unknowns, including an increased chance of cancer recurrence — and I still need to schedule this year’s mammogram, something else that slipped my mind as I was basking in the idea of being “normal”.

But that tortured soul who, on top of all the other stressful things going on in her life, was hit with a cancer diagnosis…she doesn’t exist anymore. If I’m so unfortunate as to have the cancer come back, she won’t be experiencing the aftermath.

I will. And I feel like I’m so much better equipped to handle all that uncertainty than she ever was.

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I still call myself a cancer survivor. But it’s only one of a long list of “skills” that I have on my resume.

Another Oncology Appointment…and What’s Up With That Smell?

My oncologist appointment last week marked five years since completing my final chemo infusion (and for those of you keeping track, since I had that nasty chemo nail infection).

Lately, my oncological appointments run like this: my onc asks how things are going, I air all my grievances and we spend the rest of the visit agreeing that there’s no way to determine whether what I’m experiencing is chemo-related, menopause-related, or something that I was dealing with before but hadn’t paid attention to back before cancer.

Because there’s nothing like cancer to make you acutely aware of every twinge and creak in your body.

But that’s about it. We are running out of things to talk about. In this context that’s a good thing.

I used to lament “what could have been” had I not gotten cancer, not experienced chemo, not been pushed into menopause chemically and artificially had my estrogen levels squashed. But now, I know better. What happened, happened. And “what could have been” is pointless to ponder because it simply isn’t reality.

It took me a while to get to that place and I’m finally okay with it .

But there was something else different about this oncology visit…

I walked into the cancer center for my appointment and was hit with “the smell”. There is a distinct scent in the building, possibly the cleaning solutions used to disinfect the place or maybe a fragrance that is purposefully pumped in. I had mentioned it to my clinical counselor several years ago and she admitted that a number of people have said the same thing. The smell is familiar, given that after multiple appointments and infusions and radiation sessions, I’ve experienced it a lot and have made many associations with it.

But for some reason, this time it hit me hard and a wave of sensations washed over me. Not sure why my reaction was so strong, but I’d like to think that between my last onc appointment and this one, I’ve made the most progress in distancing myself from the frustrations of getting cancer and have actually moved on with my life.

However, that rush of emotions served as a reminder of everything that I’ve been through over these past five years. I thought that chemo was going to be the hard part. Turns out, it was the most predictable part: six trying infusions, but they came with an end date. The rest of treatment brought uncertainty and unexpected difficulties. I thought I was done after radiation…but the pills continued.

Looking back at this, while I’m technically not “out of the woods” and may never be, these last six months have felt different. Yes, I still have another onc appointment half a year from now, but I’m finally turning my face forward to the future instead of constantly looking back at the past, worried that those frights will catch me again.

Five Years Down and Moving Along

I had another oncologist appointment last week. This one was a milestone, since it officially marks five years since my breast cancer diagnosis.

Five years ago, I was told that with triple-positive breast cancer I had an 85% chance of survival…but there in the fine print was added “five-year survival”.

Delays in routine care due to the pandemic have resulted in more late-stage diagnoses.

With advances in treatment for HER2-receptor-positive tumors (HER2 being the third marker in “triple-positive”), that percentage has improving. But it’s still interesting to note that there’s a finite end to what reliable survival info your doctor can give you, since it’s hard to run longitudinal studies with a large group of participants.

In any case, my oncologist was happy to see me alive and kicking. With the pandemic, women voluntarily and/or involuntarily delayed preventative care, and as a result, there has been an increase in the percentage of women presenting with advanced-stage breast cancer (from UC San Diego Health). Given how far treatment itself has come, this is a distressing statistic because it means that we have effective treatments but patients are not getting them soon enough. So perhaps, for him, I was a five-year treatment success in the midst of all of this.

My oncologist’s concern now is less that my tumor will recur and more that whatever conditions were responsible for the first tumor might result in a brand new one. He still checked me over carefully. My bloodwork looked good with only a lower white blood cell count (“that may never recover,” he’s said in the past). I have no headaches, my bone pain has significantly decreased and other long term physical side effects from endocrine therapy have just about Sudisappeared.

Five years post-diagnosis I’m turning down another path, one that I would have never explored had it not been for what cancer made me face.

I’m still dealing with things like distractability issues, but that could also be due to menopause and the pandemic situation and maybe just the march of age in general. I’ve noted before that it’s hard to pull apart all the factors to identify a single culprit.

My oncologoist remarked that I looked like I was doing well, that I exuded a positive “aura”, and while I’m sure he didn’t mean that metaphysically, the truth is, I feel like I’m finally moving forward in my life again. This coming weekend I start a three-month yoga teacher training course that will move me down a new path for the future.

I still plan to keep posting weekly during this time. We’ll see how it goes!