Cry Baby

I've cried four times today so far. I don't know what is wrong with me, besides the obvious. The first time was because I was thinking about Amanda and her wonderful family that came with her to her oncology appointment today and to see her ring the bell because she is no longer doing chemotherapy. She had to end a little prematurely but she is DONE and on to radiation. Anyway, her little girl is so sweet and her parents are really great. It made me think of my Dad. I have had my mom come with me to chemo sessions and she's a great comfort but I found myself imagining how it would be if both of my parents were able to sit here with me. No doubt my dad would bring the comic relief and I miss his presence terribly.

Then I go into my appointment with my oncologist and she does a thorough exam. At the end I show her a soft squishy lump on my left ankle. I've been obsessing over it for the last week. If I turn my leg a certain way and flex it, it really sticks out. But it's soft and I can push it in so it can't be cancer right? I was afraid to ask her. Breast cancer doesn't metastasize to the ankle in many cases, if any, but I was convinced that I was one of the small percentage of people who got a brand NEW cancer while on chemo. This is how my screwed up mind thinks. She said it was right on a blood vessel and she thinks it's a varicose vein. My husband said "so it isn't cancer?" which he already knew and she laughed and said no. Then she sits down and got really serious and said "I am really sorry to say this but..." HOLD UP! WHAT THE F$&@! My heart stops and she continues with "you've really been gaining weight and you're not even on Tamoxifen yet so could you try to scale it back?" This made me go off, not because I was mad at her, she's only stating the obvious and giving me the advice that she should as my doctor. But seriously. I eat whole grain cereal with almond milk for breakfast, a big bowl of kale with nuts and berries for lunch, organic chicken and veggies for dinner. As my mom said "People don't gain weight on what you're eating." We'll except me. My study nurse chimed in that I seem to be very sensitive to steroids and hopefully this will come off after treatment. I committed to a strict diet to lose what I've gained over the course of the next few months before I start Tamoxifen which will apparently make me a huge fatty all over again. This was all very annoying but it didn't make me cry.

While meeting with the oncologist I missed Amanda's end of chemo bell ringing. Amanda has been with me since, literally, the beginning. She was diagnosed days after me and we have done it all together. She had some very serious complications during chemo and her chemo was ended 6 weeks early, a decision that is truly in her best interest. Through it all, she has been the strongest baddest chick ever and I really wanted to be there to celebrate her end of this part of our nightmare journey. But I wasn't and it sucked so again, tears.

Then I had to shed a few tears over the relief that the doc doesn't think my leg lump is cancer. But then I realize, this is how it will always be. Every strange lump, bump, red mark, or ache will be cancer to me. This fear, this feeling that cancer is lurking, ready to chase me down again will always be there. My doctor assures me that this is normal and that as more time passes, I will feel stronger and more confident in my body.

Now it's infusion time and I'm feeling super feisty and Eric and I have a few laughs. I do a little pole dance with my IV pole but he doesn't give me any money. I head to the bathroom for one of my many pee breaks thanks to a big bag of saline. As I sit on the throne, I look up and read the bag that's dripping into my veins. In big words "chemo therapy". I look at myself in the mirror. I have aged but I am still young. Chemo. Therapy. How is this my life? How did this happen? I dissolve into tears as I sit back down in my chair.

Not a minute of this has been easy, even though I've escaped many hard side effects. The emotional toll has been worse than I've ever imagined. And soon I will enter what is the hardest part for many patients, acclimating back to "normal" life. I find that if I make plans, like following a strict diet and starting a running program with the goal to run a 5k, 10k, half marathon and eventually, a marathon, I feel in control, like I'm still fighting the cancer. I know it won't be easy, but easy is so 2011.  I'm  looking forward to my new life, my renewed life, and I hope I adjust to leaving Jenna With Cancer behind and just becoming me again.