Hi all, Please
see post below by Saskia Lichtenstern, a breast cancer survivor from London who
has asked us to help her reach out to women about a book she is putting
together written by thousands o...
Published 7 years ago
Version 1.0
Blog Post
@Marianne_BCNA How timely this announcement is for me. I finished my rads on Tuesday, 1 week earlier than I had expected because my dose had been 'boosted'. I went for a CT Scan for a metastatic workup yesterday, having managed to get a cancellation. I woke up this morning feeling like I've been impaled by a steel rod that enters my chest and comes out my back. I cried and cried. I know that things will only get worse in the next week according to the graphs I've been shown. I decided to go to the Byron Bay cancer clinic and see if I could move forward my appointment with the oncologist as I'd finished rads a week earlier than expected. She said why not see him now? I said cause I only had the CT Scan done yesterday afternoon...
They made phone calls to all and sundry and 2 hours after I got there my test results had arrived into the oncologist's laptop.
He printed them out in front of me and read it very slowly. I'm stage IIIC and he had already suggested during radiation that more chemo might be in order.
Then he tells me that I'm clear. I don't believe him, I cry. He says that I'll be on Arimidex for the next 10 years and that I'll need an ultrasound on the cyst that they found in my liver (he assured me it's not cancerous but just a precaution).
So I am cured but feel worse than I've felt since I was diagnosed nearly one year ago.
I will never be the person I was and I need time to grieve for her and all that she's lost.
I'm someone else now and I must learn to live with this new entity.
So, on my first cancer free night, the pain of radiation is just starting to kick in and I couldn't feel more miserable and lost.
Where's the dam joy?
They made phone calls to all and sundry and 2 hours after I got there my test results had arrived into the oncologist's laptop.
He printed them out in front of me and read it very slowly. I'm stage IIIC and he had already suggested during radiation that more chemo might be in order.
Then he tells me that I'm clear. I don't believe him, I cry. He says that I'll be on Arimidex for the next 10 years and that I'll need an ultrasound on the cyst that they found in my liver (he assured me it's not cancerous but just a precaution).
So I am cured but feel worse than I've felt since I was diagnosed nearly one year ago.
I will never be the person I was and I need time to grieve for her and all that she's lost.
I'm someone else now and I must learn to live with this new entity.
So, on my first cancer free night, the pain of radiation is just starting to kick in and I couldn't feel more miserable and lost.
Where's the dam joy?