Love The Way You Lie

I’m not gonna lie – I was not expecting to have to bring you the news of another recurrence of my cancer so soon. According to my quite flawed and in no way scientific calculations, I shouldn’t have had to write this particular blog post until mid-2011 at the earliest. And yet, here we are.


This time, it is a tiny spot (i.e. less than 2 cm) in my shoulder (“the neck of the scapula” to be precise) that was found on my routine PET/CT on the 8th (you know it can’t be good when the oncologist calls you mere hours after you’ve completed the exam). Truthfully, I had kind of expected this news – a shoulder MRI that I’d had earlier for a separate (minor) problem showed a suspicious lesion and my tumor markers were rising. What I didn’t expect was that the PET also showed a few very small (“none larger than .8 cm”) lesions in my left armpit lymph nodes. That for sure didn’t mesh with the construct I’d fabricated for my disease based on its history - one small lesion at a time in the bone only, take care of that and then enjoy the time in between disease-free and maybe, just maybe I have beat it for good. My blissful state of denial is officially over.


“What does this mean?” I asked my oncologist, opening the door for a series of best-case scenario statements that may or may not turn out to be true:

“It might not even be cancerous – there’s no way to know for sure without a biopsy”
“Let’s do the blood work again – maybe the results were an anomaly”
“The tumors are so small it’s not even worth doing surgery/chemotherapy/radiation at this point, especially since you aren’t experiencing any pain”
“We should be able to control the tumor growth by continuing with the hormone therapy, maybe adding a drug to increase effectiveness”


I understand that metastatic breast cancer is incurable, but I often tell myself that maybe I will be the exception. I understand that I have already beaten so many odds by surviving as long as I have, but I eagerly devour stories of women with stage IV who’ve lived 17 years, 22 years, 27 years after diagnosis. I understand that this disease is, in fact, a killer (not necessarily of me, and not necessarily any time soon but a killer nonetheless) but I tell my children that it’s more like a chronic disease that must be managed (like diabetes or cold sores) so that they don’t worry while they’re away at college. And I understand that no one wants this diagnosis to be true about me, but it is and I am sorry for once again visiting it upon you.


My next oncologist’s appointment is later this week and I’m sure by then I will have a clearer picture of the treatment plan. I AM optimistic that it will not involve major surgery or debilitating chemo at this time – but I spend a lot of time fooling myself. And I’m glad I do.


Blessings and Love to All.