stage 4 breast cancer

Evil Health Trifecta

Buckle up for a story time on how I ended up at the Emergency Room and then two nights in the hospital. I’m okay now or at least, I’m on my way to being okay.

Last Friday evening, my stomach started to do the thing it does where it makes me want to die just a little by making everything, um, explosive. When I woke up last Saturday, I had a splitting headache that didn’t feel like my typical sinus headache. I took Ibuprofen to get rid of the headache, and it took roughly three or four hours for the headache to go away.

Between my stomach problems and headache, the day was not looking good for me.

However, my boyfriend came over to my house in the afternoon to hang out. I was hoping my day could get back on track after such a rough start. We were watching TV, and I was laying on him, as I normally do. I started feeling extremely cold, which is unusual for me. I am never cold. When I began to shiver, I knew something was wrong with me.

I took my temp, and it read 100.4. I took ibuprofen in an effort to break the fever. I really did not want to go to the ER. I re-took my temp before going to bed and it was 99.3. Before going to sleep, I felt confident that I could avoid going to the ER.

When I woke up at 3:30 am on Sunday because of my explosive stomach, I realized that I was wrong. I took my temp and it read 101.2. I called the on-call oncologist, who quickly told me, “Yes, go straight to the ER.”

I asked my neighbor to take me to a community hospital ER because I wanted to generally stay away from people. Honestly, I thought I would just be receiving fluids in the ER and sent home with antibiotics for my fever, but that’s not what happened.

They asked me if I had any cough, and I responded, “Yeah. Just a slight dry cough.” The doctor ordered a chest CT with contrast. Shortly thereafter, the doctor came back to my room to tell me that I had blood clots in both lungs, and they would be admitting me. On top of the blood clots, they diagnosed me with colitis.

It took me several moments to process what they told me. A blood clot? Blood clots? I had no idea. The doctor asked me if I had been experiencing any shortness of breath, and I replied, “Yeah, I noticed shortness of breath when I went up and down stairs, but I just thought it was because I’m fat now.” Other than that, I was not experiencing any other noticeable symptoms.

Since I was being admitted, the community hospital had to get an ambulance to transfer me from their facility to the downtown main hospital. The one tech really lectured the hell out of me for coming to the community hospital when I should have gone to main hospital location. I told him, “I thought I was just coming in for fluids. I had no idea this was happening.” Grr.

I spent three days, two nights in the hospital. I was hooked up to a heperin trip and had my left arm poked and prodded so much that I felt like a human pin cushion. The nurses had to routinely take blood from me to monitor the heperin, and they had to access my veins through my hand and wrist. I am pretty sure you could torture me for information by obtaining blood through my wrist.

After I got home, I used two days to rest up from my three-day stint in the hospital pokey. I am still processing what happened to me. Breast cancer, blood clots, colitis… oh my. Talk about an evil trifecta designed to make me miserable and tired. They sent me home with a starter back of Eliquis, and I’m adjusting to my life on blood thinners.

Once again, I am adjusting to a new normal, and my new normal now involves me being tired quite a bit. Good times, good times.

Life as an Agnostic

If you know me, then you know that I have never considered myself a religious person. I was raised Catholic, but as soon as my dad told me that I was an adult in the Catholic Church’s eyes and no longer had to go, I peaced out so hard. After that, I would only attend church on Christmas and Easter for my dad, but I would never willingly attend church by myself on days that weren’t religious holidays.

After my dad retired at 65 and moved down to Florida, I stopped going all together.

My connection to the Catholic Church was only through my dad, and when he was removed from the equation, I had zero connection to the church. If I ever spend a Christmas or Easter with him, I’m sure I’ll probably attend church with him but other than weddings or funerals, I will not go.

While I do not considerer myself Catholic or religious, I wouldn’t consider myself an atheist. I have been identifying as an agnostic for two decades now. I feel absolutely nothing whenever I’m in a mass and a priest or pastor is talking about the word of God. My main issue is that I just cannot separate organized religion from the harm it has caused in the world.

A friend of mine shared this spot-on quote with me:

The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, then walk out the door and deny him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable.

Brennan Manning

I cannot and will not separate the Catholic church from all of the the documented abuse and coverup. Story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story. I could keep going when it comes to abuse in the Catholic church. It’s not specific to the Catholic Church. In 2022, news broke about abuse in the the Southern Baptist church. The LDS church has not been immune from this either.

I understand that it’s not all Catholics, Baptists or LDS members. I have loved ones who are members of these churches, and they are fantastic, loving people. My issue is primarily with the institutions itself, as well as the individual members who want to use their religion to be hateful toward marginalized groups. Regardless, my neuro-spicy brain cannot reconcile the disconnect between these religious institutions screaming about “protecting the children” when it comes to LGBTQ people while ignoring the actual child abuse within their own places of worship.

Some of the worst people I’ve come across claim to be a child of Christ but then say or do the most absolute hateful things to people. You know the ones. The people who actually seem gleeful when they condemn others to pain and suffering in hell. Who does that? Who feels satisfaction and joy at the idea of other people suffering for eternity? That’s sadistic and pretty sure that’s the opposite of Christ like. These people use their religion as a license to just be hateful to others.

When I walk past Church members on the street picketing an abortion clinic, I wonder how many of them actually care about all those babies once they are born. Did they vote for the candidate advocating for subsidized childcare, free lunches for kids at school, common sense gun legislation so kids don’t get shot up in school, or paid medical leave for parents?

I would not be opposed to attending a place of worship if I thought it was a good fit. I just would not associate myself with any religion that spends more time oppressing marginalized communities or screaming at women than actually helping communities. I do not understand those who are more focused on what might happen when we die than focusing on what is going on while we are still alive.

However, if I ever get married, I would never get married in the Catholic church. The idea of going through marriage classes with a priest sounds like absolute hell on earth for me. As much as I love my dad, I draw the line at lying to priests about my beliefs or lack thereof.

Whenever I do die, I absolutely do not want a Catholic priest for my memorial service or even have there be a Catholic mass. That’s the last thing I would want. If my family wants to do that for themselves, I can’t stop them but I hope they understand that the mass would be for them and not a way to honor me. I do feel the presence of God whenever I’m walking in a trail and surrounded by nature.

When I’m gone, I want to be cremated and spread out throughout as many forests possible. That way, there would be no grave marker for me but my loved ones could visit me whenever they step foot on any trail.

From ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Love Being Unremarkable

This month has been a busy one with scans and doctor’s appointments, and I am happy to report that I remain stable and unremarkable (*insert joke about my mental health here).

Earlier this month, I had my yearly brain MRI, and I was nervous about this one, to be honest. I have been experiencing more headaches than normal and some ringing in my ears. Happy to report that the brain MRI showed that my brain tumor has not grown in the past year, and I still do not have any brain lesions. My headaches are more than likely due to the up and down weather and that always beats up my sinuses. I experienced one headache that felt like an ice pick going to my right temple, and it took me out for the entire day.

This week, I had my most recent round of scans – a nuclear bone scan and a CT with contrast. I am happy to report that my CT scan shows that I’m stable and unremarkable. The nuclear bone scan also shows that my sternal met remains stable, and I do not have any new mets in my skeleton. The scan did show degenerative changes in my spine and both my knees (!!!!). Great, I’m officially old, ha.

When I saw that my knees are showing degenerative changes, it made me relieved that I gave up running in late 2021. I do miss running, but I actually miss all the time I got to spend with my running friends. I should really make an effort to volunteer for races this year so I can still be part of the community that I love so much. I don’t have to run to still be part of the running community.

The news I got this month feels like such a relief. My birthday is next week, and now I feel like I can celebrate another year on this planet. Every birthday feels like a satisfying fuck you to breast cancer. For so long, I thought I was going to be dead from breast cancer at 40 just like my mom. Here I am, about to turn 43, and my cancer is stable and I’m going to the gym on a regular basis. I have an amazing boyfriend who makes me so loved and happy. The best way I can ever “beat” stage 4 cancer is to keep living my best life.

“You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and in the manner in which you live.”

Stuart Scott, 2014

Time to get up swinging

During my most recent appointment with my oncologist, I talked to him about my desire to get back to the gym. Before undertaking any physical activity like this, I need to clear it with him to make sure I’m not going to do anything dangerous and hurt myself. The goal, as always, is to avoid ending up in the hospital. After our talk, he told me that he did not have any restrictions for me. My oncologist agreed with my idea for me to see a physical therapist just to get that peace of mind.

Last week, I saw a physical therapist who specializes in working with cancer patients. He had me do a series of exercises after going through my medical history. After we were done, he happily told me that he had zero problems with me going back to the gym. The only restrictions I have are avoiding exercises that could aggravate the pain and discomfort I feel in my sternum, such as push ups (haha) and fly exercises. Other than that, I’m good to go.

The day after my appointment with the physical therapist, I signed up with the new gym that opened up in the North Hills. I have an appointment tonight with a personal trainer to help me get started. To say I’m excited is an understatement. I miss being active, I really do. I just felt so much better physically (i.e., sleep, weight) when I was a runner and going to the gym on a regular basis.

However, I probably won’t ever be an active runner again because I am too afraid of the threat of spontaneous fractures. Given that I had a hysterectomy and I take arimidex, the risk of spontaneous fractures is too high for my liking. (Again, the goal is to avoid ending up in the hospital.) Maybe I’ll try to do a 5K again? I will keep hiking for as long as I can, but training for races where I’d have to pound pavement and beat up my knees, etc.? Nope nope nope. That’s a risk I’m not willing to take.

I have already shown that I can run a half marathon and shit, marathons. I have the medals and the memories. Now it’s time to pivot and adjust to my current circumstances, and that means doing activities that someone like myself can do. I know that lifting weights will be extremely beneficial for someone who is at high risk for osteoporosis. I also have no idea if going back to the gym will help me lose any of the 30 lbs I have gained in the last 2+ years. I truly hope so because about 80 percent of my current wardrobe does not fit me haha. It was either join a gym or pay a small fortune to replace my wardrobe. I’m trying the gym route first.

My recent breakup really showed me that I was stuck in so many ways, and I did not even realize it. I was emotionally stuck in a long distance relationship with someone who made it clear he did not want to move back or truly commit to me. When someone repeatedly says they never want to get married, you should believe them. Trust me. I kept thinking if I proved to him that I was nothing like his ex, then maybe he might change his mind. All that got me was getting my ass dumped and heart broken after 6 years with little explanation. He repeatedly asked if we can stay friends, which I flat-out refused for several reasons: 1) I have plenty friends, and the friends I do have are open and honest with me; and 2) I have no desire to wait around for more emotional scraps from him. To protect my peace, I have blocked him on all social media that I can found, and it has helped tremendously.

I recently met a new man, but I won’t go into details here. My stalker Randy still reads my blog for whatever reason, and there’s a chance that D might read this too. I’m going to keep this new, amazing relationship that’s been making me grin from ear to ear to myself. Let’s just say that I’m not stuck in this respect, anymore. I will never ever ever do a long distance relationship again.

I am proud of myself for picking myself up after this breakup and being the one to put myself back together. I have been accomplishing so much with my cooking, and I have seen a difference with my stomach issues. Once I get back into the gym on a regular basis, I’m going to feel like myself again, and all it took was for me to remember to get up swinging again.

2 Years

It has been 2 years since I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. Two years since my heartbroken oncologist informed me that the bone biopsy I had confirmed that the breast cancer was now in my sternum. It’s not an exaggeration to describe that day as the worst day of my adult life. My biggest fear – dying of stage 4 breast cancer just like my mother – came true.

On top of that, I was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer during a worldwide pandemic, squashing all those dreams and fantasies about going on bucket list trips. Now that I’m thinking it’s somewhat safe (with the right precautions) to go on these trips, my boyfriend of 6 years dumped me. He and I talked about going on these trips when the time was right, and the time ended up never being right.

Even with all these setbacks, I’m not going to let this stop my plans. I do not need a boyfriend to go on these bucket list trips I have on my list. He might have broken my g-d heart, but I won’t allow this to break my resolve. I have gone on vacations by myself, and I will do it again. If I am having issues walking and might need assistance to keep my klutzy ass safe, then I am sure I can find a friend that would join me on my bucket list trips. (I can hear some of my friends now thinking, “Lara going on a vacation by herself? Dear lord, she will trip somewhere and we will never see here again!”)

As of right now, I can walk and hike relatively well. I’m 2 years into a disease that on average, kills patients after 36 months. I’ve been stable since my diagnosis, and as such, been on my first line of treatment all this time. I am fortunate that I only have one met, and don’t suffer from any chronic pain. If I wait too long, will it backfire and I lose my chance to have these trips without dealing with pain and discomfort?

I can’t depend on anyone else for my happiness, and it’s up to me to make this happen. Only me.

Self-Care

One of the biggest physical issues I have been dealing with since my diagnosis would have to be my stomach. I go through periods where my stomach just outright beats the snot out of me. I’ve cried and been in physical distress, all while trying to keep up the appearance that everything is a-okay.

My stomach has always acted up (or more accurately, acted against me) when I’m stressed. What can be more stressful than stage 4 cancer? (Spoiler: Not a lot.) Juggling working full-time, a social life, and oh yeah, cancer treatment… yeah, it’s stressful.

I’ve been doing whatever I can to reduce my stress and not get myself worked up. First, I hired someone to mow my yard and pick up poop. Good lord, this has to be one of the smartest decisions I have made recently. Every penny spent paying this man to take care of my yard is worth it. Taking that off my plate has been huge for me and my stress level. I am currently looking for someone or a company to come and clean my house on a monthly basis. That’s the other big load that I need to take off my shoulders. Finding a cleaning company is high on my to-do list.

Running has definitely been a big part of my stress relief. The physical exertion is just fantastic for my soul, and I feel stronger overall. I don’t know if it will, but of course I hope this helps with my overall survival rate. Maybe I will be an outlier, a cancer unicorn? I keep running because I can, and during these runs, I can still forget that I’m stage 4, even if it’s just for 30 minutes or an hour.

My other stress relief as of late has been reading, specifically romance novels. I used to be judgmental about romance novels, and I honestly think I was just closed off for whatever hang ups I had. Not anymore, friends. Romance, smut, I do not care. I am about that romance novel life, and I give zero shits if anyone judges me. Life is definitely short. Do what makes you happy.

One of the big stressors lately for me has been certain family relationships. It has been strained for quite some time, and my illness just put a big ole magnifying glass on the trouble that’s been there for years. I had to cut off a family member from my life because they were causing me emotional distress. I am only on the defensive, and if I object to any hate or vitriol my way, I’m the one overreacting. I went nuclear and just did a straight up block, but this didn’t come out of nowhere. This has been happening for the last couple of years. I didn’t want to do this, but I cannot keep having the same fight and conversation. Over and over and over and over again.

I would like to think me just bowing out of this negative back and forth will cause my family member to do some self-reflection. Unfortunately, I don’t think this will happen. They’re going to do what they think is best, and I’m going to do the same. I am going to protect my mental health and in turn, physical health, at all costs. I’m not going to fight anymore, and I am especially not extending myself to anyone (friend or family) who hasn’t reached out to me once since my diagnosis to see how I am.

One thing cancer has taught me – you have to look out for yourself. That’s what I’m going to keep doing. Nobody is entitled to my time or energy, even if you are related to me. I don’t want to keep fighting but the other person has no desire to change, so peace out. I only have room for one cancer in my life.

Mental Health, Metastatic Breast Cancer & a Mother-Freaking Pandemic

A question I get asked a lot, and understandably so, has been: “How are you doing?” I typically respond, “Hanging in there.” It’s an answer that tells you absolutely nothing, but conveys the sentiment that hey, I am still here. I am always touched when a friend or family member checks in on me, and it warms my icy cold heart that anyone has been thinking about me. I’ll let you in on a secret though: I often give the non answer of “hanging in there” because I honestly don’t know how to answer this question. I really don’t. Does anyone really want to know the real answer?

Most of the time, my stress level is probably at a 7 or an 8, and it’s been that way since the beginning of October 2020. I am going to do my best to try and explain what this feels like. To me, sometimes it feels like there’s a killer clown with a 10-inch serrated knife in the room with me. This clown looks like it crawled out from the depths of hell, and it has got murder on its mind. The killer clown has soulless, jet-black eyes, and yellowish fangs. It has a devilish smile, which enjoys mouthing the words, “I am going to kill you.”

The kicker – nobody else can see this killer clown.

“Can’t you see it, too?” I scream at others. They nod their head and shrug at me. Nope, it’s only me. So, I have to pretend to be normal and do my best to not pay attention to the killer clown, but sometimes I slip, look back and see it once again mouthing the words “I am going to kill you,” and then freak out accordingly. I still have to go about my regular day and pretend like I don’t see this clown but I am always aware that it is there..

Living alone during a pandemic was challenging and tough enough, as it was. I often felt lonely and isolated. Like so many, I felt cutoff from my friends and my running community. The big difference, though, was that I could still run and work out. Now, I am lucky if I get 30 minutes of aerobic exercise on the treadmill. I keep gaining weight, and my body is changing so much on me. Soon, it’s going to be even more foreign to me, and I mourn my pre-diagnosis body with all my heart and what I used to be able to do.

I am lucky that I enjoy my job, and really like the people I work with and for. My job allows me to be creative, and I always try to learn something new every day. My job allows me to ignore the killer clown for 40 hours a week, and pretend to be normal, when I feel like anything but. I want to keep working as long as I physically can because it really helps my mental health, too. There are stretches of time where I actually forget I have metastatic breast cancer. Oh my, I am actually tearing up thinking about this. I desperately need these stretches of time where I can forget and feel like Lara again.

I truly believe my mental health will significantly improve when the weather gets warmer, and I can leave my house for physical exercise. I miss being on the trails so much. Don’t get me wrong – I will not be running on the trails ever again (well, unless something is chasing me). During my last brain MRI, I tried to go to my happy place, and I found myself transported back to the trails in North Park. I was climbing up the massive elevation on the purple trail, and then I was trotting along the green trail where I typically spot deer.

Even though I’m exhausted pretty much most of the time and my counts are currently in the toilet, I will hike those trails again. I’ll just have my boyfriend along with me (making sure I don’t trip and fall).

Good-bye 2020

Like everyone else in this whole wide world, 2020 was a giant dumpster fire of bad news, cancelled plans, and overwhelming feelings of isolation. A couple of weeks ago, I underwent my first ever brain MRI that my oncologist ordered. I had been experiencing more headaches than normal, and I had episodes of complete forgetfulness which worried me.

First of all, MRIs in general are just anxiety-inducing procedures to begin with. During my MRI, I did not have any option to listen to music. As a result, I spent the 35 minutes in the MRI tube trying not to think about the very enclosed space and cage around my face. I did try to go to my happy place, but the sounds of VMMMM VMMM DUM DUM WHIRRRRR, or a combination thereabouts, prevented me from going to my happy place.

Also, similar to that gut feeling I had when I pushed my oncologist to order the CT and bone scan, I honestly felt like something was there. Guess what? I was right. (Yay me.)

I have a 9 mm (approximately a 1/3 inch) tumor in the back of my brain. When my oncologist told me that news, I just broke down. When I thought I was just dealing with a met to my sternum, it was one thing. Oligometastatic, if you’re going to have stage 4 breast cancer, is the diagnosis you want because the good prognosis and life expectancy odds are in your favor.

However, the idea that I could be also dealing with brain mets not only pulled the rug from underneath me, it beat the shit out of me with a bat. I mean, come the fuck on. This is a lot for anyone to deal with. I knew that even if the brain tumor turned out to be benign, the fact that I had metastatic breast cancer, a brain tumor, plus all the bullshit that comes with Cowden’s Syndrome, felt downright unbearable.

ESPECIALLY IN A FREAKING PANDEMIC. It’s not like I can meet up with my friends for support, or travel down to my parents house for Christmas like I had really wanted to. I spent Christmas by myself (well, my dogs are with me). As a result, I lost it. I cried a lot, and both my anxiety and depression took the wheel, while I stayed in the backseat curled up in a fetal position. I wrote in a notebook how I really and truly don’t want to be anyone’s idea of inspiration or strength. Let me be weak and cry, and for the love of pete, do not put me on any pedestal. I hate that shit.

I’m human, and I’m doing the best that I can. I’m not going to put on a brave face to make anyone feel comfortable.

Finally, after consultations with a neurosurgeon and my radiation oncologist, my team of doctors all agreed that this tumor looked like a typical meningioma, and where it was located in my brain further suggested that it’s a benign tumor. However, since this was the first ever MRI of my brain, the neurologist can’t say with 99.9 percent certainty without a second scan. If this tumor doesn’t appear to have grown in between scans, she can say with almost complete certainty that this is benign and let’s just keep watching it.

If I didn’t have Cowden’s Syndrome, she would have re-scanned me in 3 months and then 6 months, and then so on. Since I have stage 4 breast cancer, they are going to scan me in 4 weeks or so (pending insurance approval), and then every 3 months for a period of time. We will only talk surgery if it looks like it’s growing or I’m symptomatic. I am a-okay with this plan because I have zero desire to have brain surgery unless it’s necessary.

Oh look, there have been research into the frequency of meningiomas in patients with Cowden’s Syndrome: Hidden association of Cowden syndrome, PTEN mutation and meningioma frequency (source). Fun, super duper fun.

I’m not surprised that 2020 ended with one last punch to my emotional well being. This year, I was told that my breast cancer is now stage 4. I missed out on my own planned 40th birthday party, my beloved niece’s high school graduation, and a trip to Maine with my best friend. I spent every holiday at home by myself. Why not add a brain tumor to the list?

In an effort to put a horrible year behind me, I will do my best to recap and focus on the good things that happened (or, in my case, the not so terrible news):

  • My brain tumor is certainly benign.
  • My cancer appears to be only in my sternum still, not widespread.
  • I still have my job, and in fact, I got a promotion!
  • Management at work has been so wonderful and supportive to me. My boss, and boss’s boss, have been the epitome of caring toward me. I will honestly work for them as long as I can.
  • Countless friends have helped me and showered me with love in 2020. They sent generous gifts, bought Huffman rules clothes, and sent me money. Because of my loved ones’ generosity, I have been able to save more money and prepare myself for the rainy day that is coming, and it is coming fast.
  • Last, and certainly not least, my boyfriend has stood by my side, and he makes me feel like the luckiest woman alive. (Never thought you’d hear that coming from someone who definitely did not win the genetic lotter, huh?)

Yeah, 2020 sucked royally, and my life will never be as it was. It’s okay. If my only win this year was that I survived, I’ll take it.

Some Type of Normal

For the first time in almost two months, I went for a run today. Well, it was more like a “jog” than a run based on my effort and time. Still, it does not matter. I put on my running shoes, and I moved this body of mine 3 miles around the Northside of Pittsburgh. I decided to stay in a relatively flat area because I am nowhere in the shape to conquer hills.

I went down the path on River Ave and just focused as much as I could on my form and breathing. When I run, I can clear my head of all my worries and anxiety. This run was different because I wanted to be even in more touch with my form, my breathing, and my general sense of being.

With each step, I made sure to step as light-footed as possible. I don’t want to be hard on my knees, ankles and shins, especially since Aromatase Inhibitors are brutal on bones. By the time I reached around Heinz Field, I began feeling pain in my ankle. Never in my life have I ever had problems with my ankles. If I had to guess, my AI was the cause of that ankle pain.

Since my hysterectomy, I have only managed to walk 2 miles at the most. I ran 3 miles today! My pace was 13:40, which is 2 minutes slower than my pre-MBC time. Honestly, now that I am dealing with metastatic breast cancer, every completed run is a win. Besides this blog post, there will be no more comparison to who I was as a runner before MBC , because that Lara is gone and she ain’t coming back. I won’t waste time mourning something I can no longer change if only I trained hard enough.

I don’t have the time.

This is a new normal, and I’m going to adapt to it. I used to to say I took up running because I wanted to see what my body can accomplish after cancer showed me how my body failed me. I was wrong. I was so wrong. My body didn’t fail back then. It did what it does – it formed cysts and tumors. I see it clearly now, and it came to me during my run today

My body, this ever-involving flawed vessel that carries me around, is amazing and capable of so much. It endured the violent onslaught of early stage cancer treatment. It… I have ran thousands of miles, finishing races that most people don’t even try or can do. My body has been beaten up, both by illness and by my own making, but I endure. I have fucking endurance.

Don’t get me wrong – I don’t think I can beat stage 4 cancer, and this is not where I’m going with this. My goal is to endure for as long as I can, and it is going to be accomplished by one, slow run at a time. I’m going to keep moving and stay upright for as long as I can, and when it’s time to rest, I will know I gave it everything I could. The miles I log will tell my story.

Back to Work

Today was my first day back at work, and I beyond excited to be back. Am I ready? Mentally – hell to the yeah. I am someone who loves and appreciates a routine. Recovering from major surgery and dealing with the fact that I have metastatic disease has honestly made these past six weeks feel like six months. All I had to do each day was think about my poor health and catastrophize my fate.

Needless to say, time dragged.

Work will be a welcome reprieve from my worried mind. I can focus on audit, fraud, and whatever else I have been tasked with. Work will allow me to be more than just a cancer patient. I mean, yeah, I’m a cancer patient, but I can put on a different hat for the majority of my week.

Plus, I like working, and I really love the team I am on at work. We are a great, supportive team. I truly enjoy figuring things out, editing, research, and analysis.

Am I ready physically? Maybe. I am tired, friends. My body feels foreign to me now. For the last couple of days, my legs have felt heavy, and I feel winded just walking up stairs. This time last year, I ran a marathon!

The gyn oncologist cleared me for exercise today at my 6-weeks post op appointment, and I am already setting goals for myself. I would love to be able to run a 5K in the spring. Even if I am slow as hell, I am going to keep moving until my body tells me I have to stop.

I swear to GOD, I will crotch punch anyone who cries at the sight of me running and refers to me as inspirational. Never ever ever ever ever make me the subject of any inspiration porn.

I just want to live my life, and I’m going to do whatever I can to have more good days than bad.