One Year. August 26th marked one year from when I learned I had Stage 3 Triple Negative Breast Cancer. I'm alive. I'm still fighting. We don't know if I'm free of it yet. So much has had to be thrown at it. But I am here.
Here's a reflection.
"PINK"
You’ll never forget where you were on that day when the phone rings with results
The moment in time when you learn your body has turned against itself
Grown things it should not and created dangers to your life
Your heart stalls. You forget how to breathe
The color drains from your face as reality sets in
The voice relaying their apologies along with what kind it is
Next steps, how they’ll do all they can, but more tests need to be run
At home you get lost looking it up
Throwing yourself into research, statistics, and the fear grows
The fog sets in as scans are done, blood drawn, and you wait
And pray they don’t find it anywhere else
The meeting with oncology with all the big terms
Of big drugs and big treatments with big side effects and long times in the unknown
But it is a chance to survive
You’re sent home with a binder, flyers on support groups, resources
And items in pink
You learn to like pink
Through preparation, and the “thoughts and prayers” from others
And the insurance calls and the many nightmares
You put plans in place and pieces together and the day comes
The needle inserted, medications given to help with side effects
Then the drugs infused from a nurse in a hazmat suit
Because of how volatile the cocktail is
The red devil that could be part of the angelic cure
A talk with the nurses. Reminders of what to expect
You are going to get worse before better
Hair will fall out, taste will change
You’ll vomit, be weak, and it will hurt
But you need to eat and rest and try to keep your strength
Looking at those around you in various phases of battle
A bag given with handmade comfort items
And other things to see you through
More items in pink
You learn to like pink
Days and nights blend until you don’t know where you are
The simple act of breathing, talking, and eating, takes so much
The isolation as those whom you hoped would call
Or maybe those who would even visit
They’re all quiet or excuse with “don’t want to disturb”
You get it, they are uncomfortable. But it hurts as bad as the drugs do
Those moments when someone does reach out
A call, a card, a text, a package
It lifts your soul when you can barely lift your head
The head that no longer has hair
You fight, and pray, fight, drag through, battle on
Counting down cycles as your counts look like hell
And you hope your body can hold up through this curse that could be the cure
Wigs, scarves, earrings, bracelets, Soft shirts, awareness gear
Support group calls and webinars, Appointment after appointment
There’s so much pink
You learn to like pink
And finally, the infusions end and you get to breathe
A few short weeks to get some strength, put on some weight
Give those supporting you a chance to rest, as they are exhausted too
A break before the next round of the fight starts
Surgery to cut the remnants of the offense
The part of your body that went haywire now removed
Along with so much more of you.
Incisions, drains, drama, and waiting on pathology
The wait is agonizing. Was there more, did it spread
The weeks of radiation that follow
Burns and blisters. Exhaustion worse than ever before
But your hair is starting to come back,and food doesn’t taste like metal anymore
There are talks of follow-up treatment
Supportive medications, lingering pill chemo
The wait…. So much waiting, Months in limbo before the next scan
And all along the way
You learn to like pink
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