Being Scared

Being a Breast Cancer Survivor I am always worried that the cancer will come back.  It is just the nature of the beast.  I have talked with some people that just assume that it will come back.  I suffer from severe hot flashes from the medicine that I take to lower the chances that the cancer will come back.  Because my body temperature feels 10 degrees above normal, I have a pair of pajamas that I wear and the top doesn't fully cover my scar.  My scar is huge and it is hard to miss. Trying to stay positive I have told myself that my scar is a mark of survival.  It represents my strength and my ability to persevere.  My scar is my new beauty.

About a month ago I was walking by a mirror.  I had to step back to get a closer look.  "Hmm, has my scar changed?"  I yell for Mina, "Mina, I think my scar has changed.  It looks all puckery and it is all blotchy!" Nobody in my house goes up or down the stairs to talk so she yells back, "Yeah, I noticed that the other day!"

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want you to worry," was her response.

Too late.  I am worried.

I take a closer look.  My thoughts turn to, "This is hideous."  Trying to remind myself that this isn't positive self talk, I really couldn't come up with anything better.  I feel sad because I don't see myself being intimate with another person because I don't feel attractive.  I shake it off and move on with my day. 

During this time Mina was busy with Marching Band and Volleyball which left me with trying to organize my time so that maybe I could possibly do something for myself.  I have to be honest and say that I was getting angry as to why I am the only one that has to take care of everything.  I became so busy that my house was a mess and the water pump wasn't working.  The landlord had to come over which resulted in a letter telling me that I better clean up the house.  "I AM DOING MY BEST AND THAT IS THE BEST I CAN DO," is screaming in my head. 

During this time I sent an email to a friend telling her my concerns to find out that I sent the message to over 900 people from the Autism Parent Message Board.  OOPS, my bad.  I told all of my friends on facebook and a dear friend told me that I now have over 900 people that are praying for me.  Another friend offered to take me to my appointment. Gotta love facebook.

With raising a child with Autism, my life will never slow down.  The added pressure of all the extra activities was getting to me.  Marching Band and Volleyball ended and I got a reprieve.  Don't get me wrong, I love my daughter's activities and I wouldn't change a thing.  For a short period of time it just got to be a little too much.

During this reprieve, I picked up the house and called the Oncologist.  I told them about the change and I was hoping they would say something like, "Probably no big deal but we want to check it out anyway."  Instead I heard, "We want you to come in and have and ultrasound and a mammogram."

Why am I so afraid?  Maybe because I have no clue how I could go through that awful experience again.  I know that if the cancer returns I will have a double Mastectomy.  The two things that I liked most about myself were my boobs and my hair.  Both will be gone. Yes my hair will grow back.  The boobs will not.

I am fortunate that I live near a YMCA that has an incredible Live Strong Program.  It is an exercise program for individuals going through cancer treatments.  I was part of this program three years ago.  I stopped by the director's office and told him my worries.  "Well," he said, "Don't worry until you have something to worry about." 

I am also fortunate to be part of a group of woman called "The Brown Baggers".  We meet for lunch on Fridays and different topics are discussed.  I had the opportunity to voice my concerns with all the ladies chiming in saying they would be there to take me to my appointment.

I am no longer alone.

I am a big snoop and I found my daughter's college essay.  Her words are a reminder that for every bad there is an opposite good.  I would like to share the last paragraph. 

Slowly my mother’s hair began to grow back but she still wasn’t getting any better. It came to the point where I never thought that she would be happy again. Then one day I came home to her cleaning the entire house and I knew that she was finally going to be okay. My family is now part of a new society filled with other survivors, opening my eyes to how powerful cancer can be. Most importantly though, it has showed me how limited it really is. Our house is now filled with pink ribbons, which are no longer reminders of the sickness but a symbol of our strength. My mother going through cancer has made me a braver person but it has also changed my perspective on life. I have overcome the fear of death itself and can focus on what really matters in life. I have the courage that I didn’t have before to take the challenges that life gives me and to make the best of them.  My mother has been in remission for three years now and I cherish every moment I have with her.

I am one blessed Mom.

Definition of Mental

1.a: of, relating to, or being intellectual as contrasted with overt physical activity.

2.a: of, relating to, or affected by a psychiatric disorder <mental patient>.

b: mentally disordered, mad, crazy.

I choose being an intellectual as my definition of being mental.

*The photo that I use for my background was taken by Sam.