It has been over four years since I last blogged. Treatments are a faded memory. As Covid limits our lives, I cast about for ways to fill the hours. Writing was (and is) cathartic, so I thought a blog update might be a suitable activity.
Transitioning from cancer patient to survivor wasn’t as straightforward as I imagined. By the completion of treatment, I felt detached, foggy, and numb. Shouldering what I believed others expected of me–I feigned a celebratory mood. Though grueling, I had grown accustomed to my medical routine and I struggled to return to normalcy. It took several years to regain my footing entirely.
Tamoxifen
I continue to take a daily dose of Tamoxifen, an inexpensive white pill I’ve been taking since June 2016 and won’t stop until June 2026. It attaches to hormone receptors in cancer cells that withstood chemo and radiation, and blocks estrogen from feeding the cancer. Because tamoxifen puts me at a higher risk for blood clots, stroke, and endometrial cancer, every day I take low dose aspirin and give thanks to God for my good health. In addition to providing another layer of defense against cancer metastasis, Tamoxifen often preserves bone density and decreases LDL cholesterol.
Because I tolerate Tamoxifen well, I did not switch to an aromatase inhibitor (AI). Many women do, once they reach menopause. Aromatase inhibitors can cause more heart problems, more bone loss, and more broken bones than tamoxifen, yet they also do a slightly better job of keeping breast cancer at bay. It took close to a year for my body to catch up to the chemical menopause brought on by chemo and medication. In 2017, my follicle-stimulating hormone proved that my I was “there.” My oncologist and I discussed the merits and disadvantages of switching from Tamoxifen to an AI. I was having minimal discomfort stemming from Tamoxifen. Two of my friends had a fair bit of unpleasantness from five and ten years on an AI. Both were left with varying degrees of neuropathy in their fingers.The single digit advantage of the AI for five years vs staying on Tamoxifen for ten, seemed a wise course of action.
Lymphedema
Two years ago, during a very long flight to South Africa, I neglected to wear a compression sleeve on my right arm, which is missing thirteen lymph nodes. The decreased pressure within the plane’s cabin caused lymph fluid to start building in my arm and breast. I was unaware until days later when I noticed the unmistakable ache in my forearm. Eventually the fluid reached my hand, plumping it up and concealing the bones and veins that age has amplified
Back home, I returned to my oncology therapist for lymph massage. My hope of dodging lymphedema dissolved. I was anxious. I had seen women in the waiting room with arms as big as my thigh; a visual that frightened me. Lymph massage appointments, two to three times a week, added up to a lot of time and expense. I was sick of cancer messing with my life. I felt as though I had handled my diagnosis and treatments with a small measure of poise, but this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I grieved. It might have been excessive, but to ease my mind, my therapist offered to wrap my arm in an attempt to reverse the swelling faster. I learned how to do it myself; a tedious task to preform with only one hand. The numerous layers took nearly an hour to wrap by myself! Uncomfortable and especially painful when I bent my arm, I’m relieved to have that therapy in my rearview mirror as well.
Eventually, my therapist prescribed a Flexitouch pump which, though pricey, allows me to get massages at home on my own schedule. Suited up, I look a bit like an abbreviated version of the Michelin Tire man–only in brown, not white. Air inflates the cells in a slow rhythmic pattern that moves the excess lymph fluid from my hand, arm, and chest to my trunk, where my lymph system drains it away. It gives me a relaxing sixty-four-minute massage in the privacy of my own home. I do not have an elephant sized arm. The right arm mirrors my left. The pump was a turning point for me; furnishing me with self-reliance which in turn increased optimism and courage. Today, I rarely if ever use it. Though my arm’s lymph system will always be compromised, it works pretty well these days! My last international flight I tested it out and can now fly without a compression sleeve! Our bodies are amazing machines.
Flexitouch System
Hair Metamorphosis
My hair grew back! At first, a very short and edgy ash-gray (June 2016). By October, I began to wonder if it would ever reach my eyebrows. Eventually it grew out, returning to its original color and texture. Experiencing baldness, I no longer sweat “bad hair days” like I once did. Any hair is better than no hair at all!
Hypothyroidism
Speaking of bad hair days, last summer I began to find wads of it on my shower drain. I presumed it was age-related. Growing old, like motherhood, has its share of humbling, if not humiliating moments! In October, my hairstylist asked when I had last had my thyroid tested as she noticed classic patterns of breakage in my hair. Since a portion of my thyroid was an unavoidable casualty during radiation, hypothyroidism was a distinct possibility. A quick blood test revealed that I did indeed have an issue. A daily dose of Synthroid, and life got better. I hadn’t realized how often I was falling asleep in the afternoon until I stopped needing naps! Turns out that brittle hair, fatigue, dry skin, and constipation are all common symptoms of hypothyroidism. I had them all.
Every cancer journey is individual. Like grieving over the loss of a loved one, there is no timeline for feeling “normal” again. I am definitely there now; feeling like myself again.
journey2health4sue 