It’s Been Two Years Since I Finished DCIS Treatment-It feels Like Forever Ago, and Just Yesterday

The rain hits the pavement this morning, and I sit, staring at the Christmas tree, reflecting that two years ago today, I walked out of my last radiation treatment. It feels like forever ago and just yesterday. 

730 days later, and I can still transport myself there. Closing my eyes, I can feel my head on the radiation pillow, my right arm stretched out overhead, my body covered by the warm blankets, the table moving in and out of the CT machine. I hear my music in the headphones, not loud enough to drown out the crackling of the radiation machine. This machine delivers enough toxicity to kill any remaining cancer cells, but not enough to kill me.  

For twenty sessions, I was there, in the machine, breathing shallowly, willing my body to stay still, calming my mind to try not to get up and run out of the treatment. 

The machine silenced, and the table moved me out of the tube for the final time. The techs came in for the last time, and I looked back at the machine that had been delivering just the right amount of radiation to my cancerous breast. Joy bubbled up. I was done. Really done. The techs handed me a little bell and played some music for me. I danced through the waiting room in my radiation robe and savored this moment.  

I thought I was done on December 23rd, 2019. 

 It turns out that it was the beginning.

While I had physically healed from the surgery, my skin was still burned from the radiation, and I was still fatigued. I wrote a final update to my extended support team, and then it was time to enter the land of “normal” again.

I couldn’t wait for life to get back to normal now that I was done.

I was ready to be fully recovered.

I’m still waiting.

It turns out that recovery and healing are processes, not events.

Writing to Heal

Bubbling up inside me a few weeks after finishing radiation was a calling. This experience was worthy of writing about. I needed to process what had happened to me over the past three months. In less than a quarter, I had gone from being a healthy 41-year-old to being a cancer patient. As I looked around my circle of friends, I realized that I was the first one who had gotten diagnosed. I knew I wouldn’t be the last.

I had spent months pouring my soul into reading, researching, experiencing, surviving. My family- every supportive- was ready for life to return to normal. But my soul wasn’t there yet. Why had God put this path before me? I needed to share, process, and find a way to walk through a recovery process.  

Writing my story became a part of my healing process. Every morning I opened up my laptop and poured out my thoughts, feelings, and memories. The document grew in length, and I began to see the story arc forming. I began to heal while I wrote. The emotions flowed out into the jumble of words.

I didn’t edit at all during the first draft. Instead, every morning, I would open up the document and begin right where I’d left off. I didn’t know how long it would take, but I kept writing. 

When the world shut down from Covid, I had no opportunities to seek out support groups in person. Writing became my therapy. When everyone else was tired of hearing about the details of my story, the page offered me comfort. It took all of my pain, fear, and struggles and absorbed them. I could walk away from my daily writing sessions and feel a more profound sense of purpose.  

Writing helped my soul begin to heal. It is a process that continues today, especially as I approach my regular imaging. 

Two-year Imaging

As I walked into my mammogram at the beginning of this month, I felt a familiar sensation of scanxiety. Was I going to have a Christmas peppered with extra appointments and biopsies, or would the scan be all clear?

I couldn’t begin to think about Christmas until that scan was done. Thankfully I had scheduled it for December 1st, not mid-December!

As I sat in the mammogram room, waiting for the radiologist to review my mammogram images, my hands began to shake. The longer it went, the more nervous I got.

Two quiet knocks on the door interrupted my mind spinning.

In walked the radiologist. I looked into his eyes, trying to read the results before he said them out loud.

When he said they were normal, I sighed in relief. There would be no more appointments for six months. I could enjoy a reprieve from the worry.

Lessons and Reflections:

Somehow, I thought that I would be done with health and life challenges once I got through breast cancer treatment. I had punched that ticket, and I was done.

I did not know what would follow would be a global pandemic, my husband’s skin cancer diagnosis and treatment, and a frustrating journey with a herniated disc in my cervical spine.

The last two years have been filled with unpredictability and opportunities. I’ve grown and developed more than I have in years. I have also experienced a much wider range of emotions. I feel more deeply now. So, as I close, I thought I’d share just a few of the lessons I’ve taken away during my two years of cancer survivorship.

• Savor the moments as they come.  
• Watch the Christmas Movies- don’t just have them on while you’re doing chores
• Boundaries are essential
• Saying yes to everything leads to overwhelm
• Prioritize your medical appointments
• Persist and ask questions when a first treatment isn’t helping
• Chronic pain impacts all areas of life
• Noise-canceling headphones are amazing
• Writing is good for the soul
• Therapy is beneficial- I wish I had sought out help during my treatment
• Play that game with your kids
• Take the photos
• Perfect is an illusion
• Medical fatigue is no joke
• Rest when you need to
• Say no 
• Delegate
• Ask for help
• Lower your standards
• Laughter is therapeutic 
• Take the time for the people you love- tomorrow is never a guarantee

As I sit, cozy under my favorite pink blanket this morning, I reflect on that moment I walked out of the radiation office two years ago. It feels like forever ago and just yesterday.