When I was diagnosed with breast cancer and told that the largest part of 2022 would be devoted to chemotherapy and then surgery, I told myself—and anyone who would listen—that 2022 was going to be the best year of my life. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.
Having no recent experience with friends or family members going through cancer treatment, I was somewhat naive. No, let’s face it. I was an idiot.
I had two major misconceptions about the process. I knew it was tough but:
1) I thought I would get chemo, feel horrible for a few days and then take off to visit friends, return to chemo, feel horrible, go visit friends . . . . You know, as the shampoo bottle says, lather, rinse, repeat. That is not how chemo worked for me.
2) I thought I would do my five months and the experience would be over. It was not.
As many of you know, cancer is what brings us to the doctor’s office but, for many of us, it is the side effects of the drugs that keep us coming back.
I have found myself disabled in a variety of ways for two solid years. I should have been out and about months ago but, although my cancer responded well to the treatment, my body did not. It has been a long haul. I have declared my period of physical limitations over before and found I was mistaken. Nonetheless, as I approach the two year anniversary of my diagnosis, I am declaring my restricted lifestyle over once again.
I feel silly complaining because I realize many have worse side-effects for a much longer time—all the while trying to maintain a full-time job and raise a family. The timing was lucky for me. I just had to worry about myself.
People often ask what I learned from a bout with cancer. My standard reply is I discovered that either I have an incredibly positive attitude or I am the dumbest person on earth. Possibly both. Turns out I am an optimist. No one was more surprised than I was.
Maybe I am more of a pragmatist than an optimist. Many people have grown to hate the phrase “it is what it is.” But you know what? It is what it is. I don’t think about cancer very often. I am forced to think about the treatment.
Anti-cancer drugs inflict indignities on a body that I could not have imagined but don’t ask me to list them. As the side-effects fade from my body, they also fade from my memory. Turns out there is a whole world out there beyond the hospital grounds.
I saw an old New Yorker cartoon where the doctor tells the patient that, excuse the paraphrase, I can cure your back problem but you might find yourself with nothing to talk about. I can’t wait.
As I approach my two year anniversary, I will try to record some more thoughts. With any luck, I will be able to look back at my notes with surprise. All that happened? It was so long ago, I barely remember.
© 2024 Jane Kelly
