Terrified

Dear Lisa...I see some similarities in our situations. I also nursed my MIL in the final stages of bowel cancer, and it was just the hardest, saddest thing. Watching this wonderful, vibrant, kind, wise woman, withering away was just horrific. This was twenty years ago, but the loss was still raw to our family. Flash forwards to last year. I was put into hospital for investigations regarding joint pain, rashes and other nebulous symptoms. So my start off point was to try and improve my joint mobility in my hands and knees. That ended up being 16 days of tests and procedures where it was established that I have three overlapping autoimmune diseases. One of the tests was an MRI which turned up....Taaa Daaa....breast cancer. Wham!!! Well, ring-a-ding-ding!!! From the most pressing problem of the day being what to cook for dinner to cancer as well as the other shitfest of scleroderma etc...what the hell happened???  I decided I'd give it my best shot, whilst I was still at Stage 3, Grade 3. If I had been told Stage 4, I would have just said...keep me comfortable and let nature take its course. Pictures of the events of twenty years ago played in my brain, like some horror replay of Groundhog Day. I was NOT going to put my family through that nightmare again. Then I thought that if I just threw in the towel, even although a had a chance, that would be just as bad. So I shaved off my hair (which I had sat on), down to a Marine buzz cut, and prepared for the battle of my life. Twelve weeks of AC chemo and twelve weeks of Paclitaxol and Herceptin followed. (More Herceptin for another six months still underway). The day after Anzac Day, I had a double mastectomy with full node clearance on the left side and sentinal nodes on the right. I feel as if some great monster has swallowed me while, and after being partly digested...left bald...weak..exhausted and titless, has shat me out the other end. But...I'm still here...pathology of both amputated breasts shows NO active cancer, just the denuded beds where it had been. Sure...no guarantees, but to have done nothing, would have guaranteed only one certainty...the plot next to Daffy. The chemo killed off all detectable signs of the cancer and the surgery was additional margins of safety (for me). Each of us is different, and each of us has to decide what is right for them. For me, to fight was right, and if it does progress in the future, then I will decide at that time, whether to continue the fight or to pop down to White Lady and choose my coffin handles.