Sometimes There's Just a Down Side..............

3/12/13--Tuesday--Day 150--The Backside of the Marathon

It's been a tough few days, not necessarily physically, but emotionally.  So much has happened in these last five months.  In one sense, October seems like forever ago--in another, it seems like just yesterday.  But through it all, I've tried really hard to keep a positive attitude.  I tell myself that this is just a chapter in my book, but for many, cancer will be a part of the rest of their story.  I tell myself that breast cancer is a curable cancer, but many live knowing they will die from a terminal cancer.  I tell myself cancer will only have stolen a year from my life, while others spend years fighting it.  I tell myself that in six more months, this will be finished and my "normal" pre-cancer life will return, but I'm starting to realize cancer has changed my life forever.

So while I try to stay positive, every once in awhile, it's hard--really hard.  There is just a down side.  You see, I'm sort of on the back side of the marathon--that dark side where there are no crowds around and you have to run all by yourself.  At the beginning, there are tons of people encouraging you, supporting you and telling you that you can do this.  And they have never left.  They're still at the finish line waiting for you--waiting to cheer you on and let you know just how proud they are of you for being so strong.  But somewhere in between, there is this dark side that you have to run by yourself.  You know you have tons of supporters and you carry them in your heart, but for now, you are alone because no one else is allowed on this part of the course with you.

This is also the scary part of the marathon.  At the beginning, it was well lit, well laid out, and you were pumped up about conquering what was in front of you.  But now you have to navigate the course yourself adjusting to the varying terrain, the unpredictable weather, and the surprising obstacles you never imagined were out there.  And, as you do all of this, you're exhausted and just want to quit, but you know you can't.  You know you just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other and forcing yourself to keep going.  What other choice do you have?  This is the part of the marathon where you want to cry--where everything on your body hurts, and you continually wonder how you'll make it to the end.

Right now I am struggling as I realize, this marathon has changed me.  While the finish line is back where I started, when I reach it, I won't be the same person who started the race, neither physically nor mentally.  Running this marathon, I've received some injuries, and while I know they will heal, those parts of my body will never be the same.

This weekend I think the reality of the marathon I'm running finally set in. I realized cancer has permanently changed my "normal" life, and even when all the treatments and surgeries and medicines are over, I will never be who I was last October.  I guess I believed that cancer was going to steal a year from me, but when it was over, when I had finished all of the treatments and done everything the doctors told me to do, I would be back to "normal".  In reality, cancer and chemo will leave behind scars which may affect me the rest of my life.

Last week I skipped chemo because I developed neuropathy (numbness) in my feet.  While I knew that was a possible side effect, I thought once I was finished with chemo, the numbness would go away.  The more I've read, the more I realize there is a good chance the numbness may be a permanent condition.  On Saturday, my big toes woke up.  That was encouraging  They had been numb for 12 days.  On Sunday, my toes on my right foot seemed to be waking up leaving just the small toe and the ball of my foot numb.  On my left foot, I could feel two more toes which left my last two toes and the ball of my left foot still numb.  At first, I was excited because maybe this means the neuropathy is only a temporary condition, and maybe it is.  But as of tonight, there are no additional improvements.  I keep thinking to myself, "I'm 48 years old.  How in the world can I go through the rest of my life with numb feet?"  Plus, my two right fingers are still numb from the surgery.  Having my axillary and sentinel lymph nodes removed means going in a hot tube, something I've always loved, could result in lymphedema, so my hot tub days are pretty much over.  I can't give blood ever again because of the chemo.  Slowly I've started realizing, in October, when this is all over, I'm not just going to pop back to normal.  There will be a whole new normal in which I'll have to learn to accept and live.  And while I am grateful, and thankful, and very happy that I will be well and alive, I realize I will now have a large tail which will drag behind me from now on.  My new normal will be a world apart from my old normal.

Forgive me for what sounds like the "poor me's".  I guess it is.  I guess I'm just tired.  A year ago a crazy dark cloud came over me as what was supposed to be a simple foot surgery went bad.  Then my mom died and took a huge piece of my heart with her.  After that, Brooklyn moved away leaving us empty nesters.  While we missed our kiddos, we embraced this new phase in our life realizing we could recreate ourselves.  But that quickly turned into a nightmare as a simple lump became a simple cancer, which became stage 3 cancer, which led to lymph node removals, which led to a 12cm abdominal tumor, which led to a hysterectomy, after which chemo started which has led to numb feet that may be permanent, and I haven't even started the hard chemo of phase II.  So here I am, almost a year after my foot surgery still in the middle of this dark cloud.  And while I've stayed strong, I've kept smiling, and I've made my own sunshine as much as possible, I guess I'm just in the tired phase as I realize I have a long way to run on the backside of this marathon.

P.S. I really will be okay. I use this blog to record all of my feelings, even the not so happy ones :) I am thankful to be alive and I don't want anyone to worry that I've lost myself in self-pity. I'm still smiling and i know this path will get better :)