Fluxus Maximus

45 days since I've been here last. Six and half weeks that's felt like three life times filled with blind corners and slippery surfaces. It's all happening too fast for me, a person who likes to set her boundaries firmly, deeply and clearly defined. It's also happening too slow for me, a person who knows what needs to be done and feeds on productivity and taming chaos. 

But those 45 days have past and here I am today fresh from my fertility clinic visit this morning trying to see about my options. Because if having cancer isn't enough, having it at a certain age means addressing the issue of early onset menopause. Chemo, you see, kills not only the replicating HER2NEU cells that want to devour my body, but tends to kill any healthy dividing cells that are happily going about their business--from my reproductive system all the way up to those itty bitty strands of hair perched atop my head.

Cancer is an accelerant. It is a substance that can bond, mix or disturb anything it touches and cause an increase in the speed of a natural or chemical process. It accelerates decisions, relationships, values, emotions...it accelerates everything it touches. 

For weeks now, I've been trying to grab a hold of anything that looks familiar, not fighting change but trying to apply standard patterns to keep familiarity close at hand. I've been trying to control anything within my grasp, be at the helm to regulate the speed and direction of the current. "No, I've got it." "I'll do it." "I'll take care of it." "It has to be done now." And so on and so on and so on. 

But the fever's broken. I'm sitting here now stunned at how much I couldn't see. My view has changed and the metaphor has gone from steering through the chaos to floating with the current. You don't float by holding on but by letting go, by feeling and responding to the water's minute gestures. It's no longer about fixing things but rolling with the flux -- constantly flowing, continuously changing, unbounded experience. No beginning. No end. When I'm awake I know this. When I'm half conscious, it's incredibly hard to remember let alone embrace. I'm not exactly sure how I got back but I think through pure exhaustion reality was given a little room to shake me awake. Oh and also, the man I love, Bill, the one who means the most to me, reached his limit in the unsolicited role of bridled whipping boy. Bless his tall white boy sense of privilege to think he could mandate how I should start behaving, barking out how it's going to be from here on out. My annoyance turned into rage. Plates went flying and with that, the last bit of fighting in me went out the window...or into the window if we want to get the facts exactly straight. Thank you, my love, for demanding that it's time for me to wake up.

I know who I am. I know that I'm much more at ease if I have some edges to what's lurking in the distance. And I'm much more comfortable if there's enough order and clean surfaces that I can get done what I want, when I want. That's not going to change. But the true reality is that what I know and what is in place is good enough. There's time. Enough has been done. No one's dying here. Well, at least not me and not quite yet. Suddenly magically, look how simple it all has become. Stay awake. Pay attention. Participate. And even with cancer, I can have a little bit of fun. Maybe even a lot.

Big breath again....

So where are we for those who are just catching up?

30 days ago I had an out-patient lumpectomy where a 1.5 cm ductal carcinoma was removed from my left breast and a biopsy was done on a sentinel lymph node to see if the cancer had migrated to the lymphatic system. It had not. But what is known about cancer is that it is relentless and pitiless. Treating it locally through removal of what can detected is not enough. Cancer must be treated systemically, which means, even though it may appear I have a clean bill of health, it shouldn't be assumed this is the truth, especially with HER2NEU lurking in the wings. So where am I then? I'm in the holding pen with my release papers in hand. But first there are a few gauntlets that need to be run. Four more steps in total. The first three completed over the course of a year with the final step running over another 3-5 years. 

Today, October 14, 2013 I am assigned Stage 1, Grade 2 ductal carcinoma. Post surgery now, I will follow a standard course. 
Step 1: Slash and Burn (Beginning 72 hours from today). Six rounds of TCH chemotherapy treatment (Taxotere, Carboplatin, Herceptin). Every three weeks until late January 2014. Fatigue, mouth sores, baldness, brittle bones. A new normal.
Step 2: The Easy Bake Oven
4-6 weeks of daily radiation administered locally to the left breast. Using an awesome bit of technology, the ray is sent on the exhales to avoid radiating my heart. Like a tanning salon but even better.
Step 3: A year of IVs 
Herceptin treatments every three weeks for the remainder of a year to keep the HER2NEU gene in its rightful place. Totally do-able.
Step 4: Hormone Therapy
3-5 years of daily meds which hopefully will not result in obesity, depression, personality change and/or hot flashes. But we'll leave those concerns for another day.

more to follow indeed....