I guess I no longer need a brush

I stopped using deodorant when I found out I had cancer. It wasn’t a conscious decision; I wasn’t thinking that the aluminium in the deodorant caused my breast cancer or that I could go around stinking now that I had it. I unconsciously took a daily action out of the routine. It was something I could control. I think that is what I wanted the most, was to control. Control the narrative, control the diagnosis, control the treatment, control everyone’s reaction around me because I was in the spotlight now for all the wrong reasons.

That was the hardest part for me, telling others. I never thought I would die from it, I still don’t, that makes me a good patient I suppose but the will to live is very strong, down to my bones. I love life; I love dancing, I love music, I love my kids, I love my family, my pets; I have a partner whom I believe the sun sets and rises with; I have crafted the life I have always wanted. I’m not saying its all bunnies and bowties, for I think with the highs there will be lows but with it all I have always thought “this too shall pass” the fun always ends, the sadness can be debilitating, the hurts excruciating, the insecurities claw inducing, but its all so fleeting and in the fleeting is my love affair with life.

I was driving when the call came in from the Nurse Advocator. (I knew things were getting serious when I was giving my own private NA) She said she would like for me to pull over to give me the results of the biopsy taken a few days ago. To which I thought, well, do you tell people who don’t have cancer to pull over?

I had triple positive non-invasive stage 1 breast cancer. That’s the super aggressive kind and she said that was too bad. That stuck with me the most; that I had the unfortunate kind. I was welcomed onto the conveyer belt of oncologists, surgeons, geneticists, and schedulers. Pamphlets, folders, ID bracelets, and research became my constant companions.

I called my boyfriend first. Then my sister. Super hard calls; lots of tears, I could hear their fears and their desire to be strong, to be positive, to get a game plan, for more information. I didn’t have the information. I told my mom in her driveway (this was July 2020, mid Covid High Scare) she looked me right in the eye and said “it should be me.” Heart breaking. I felt like I was breaking everyone’s heart, that I was causing so much pain, so much fear around me. I told my boys, damn, I don’t even remember where but by the time I told them (they were 7 and 10) I had it down to a science. I knew the game plan, I didn’t keep anything from them. I told them that I was getting the best care possible, that it would be hard, that I would do everything in my power to make good life choices, that I want to see them graduate and grow and that was one my biggest motivators. I told them there are no guarantees in life but if you play life by the probabilities, I will probably be just fine. They had questions, I had answers. They are the cutest.

I had a port installed. It’s a plastic cylinder with thin membrane they put in your chest right below your collar bone. It makes the administration of chemotherapy so much easier on your body. Dispersing the toxic, life giving chemicals closer to your heart for better distribution. I was a little robotic in my mind. I might have done more robotic arm movements then before but who’s keeping track?

Fifteen months of chemotherapy and a double mastectomy with reconstruction was the game plan. I lost all my hair- I had beautiful hair that I could tie up in a bun and probably played with too much. It was a part of my identity. I did hot yoga after every infusion in my bathroom or my boyfriend’s sauna to sweat out all the toxins, I ate well, I rested, I felt sick for fifteen months, I worked, I loved, I parented, I wrote.

Things were the same but so not the same. Life keeps ticking on. People are super nice to you when you have cancer by the way. Friends who maybe were not talking to you because of life and timing and relationships or whatever will send a text or a card. People realize the finiteness of your existence and want to appreciate your specific gifts, your specific soul, your essence. They are kind and forgiving. It is lovely. I wish we could be like that to one another all the time. Wouldn’t the world be a better place?

So now, I am done with most of the treatment. Five years of hormone therapy – just a pill in the morning- which is going well. I feel like I have been pushed through an old timey laundry machine like you see in the cartoons. I am lying here all flattened; trying to dry out and reshape myself back to what I was; but dare I say an even better version? Yes, yes I do. To which I am constantly working on. I know I am stronger, wiser, more confidant, and perhaps even happier. I cannot call myself a survivor because I will die one day, but hopefully that day is a little farther out then I first imagined when all this started. I am very lucky and living in that appreciation of life is a constant for me now. That might be the biggest lesson of my cancer. I am just so thankful for every day…even the ones where everything goes wrong; you know, the ones where you spill coffee all over yourself before even walking out the door, when the kids are not listening, where the dog pukes in the car, where the roads are terrible because of two inches of snow, where the toilet overflows along with your inbox and you have so many fires to put out at work and oh yes, your kid is going back to online learning. You know, those days….I even love those days. I mentally smile, order a damn pizza or make homemade stromboli depending on mood; I turn up my music and I dance. Because I can.