I rang that radiation bell!
And I have so many mixed feelings. Mainly: It's never really over, is it?
On one hand, it feels like ending radiation marks the end of the bulk of my treatment. As my friend said, "You've done the heavy lifting already," referring to the surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. These are the treatments that suck you dry and interfere with life in a more serious way, but that are the key ingredients to ridding your body of cancer.
But then I think, no, I'll really think of it as being done when my infusions end early November and I get that damn port taken out. So I still have some yet to go.
Then I'm reminded of the daily hormone pill that's supposed to start now through April 2029. 2029. Isn't that the year of the Jetsons? So, I guess I celebrate then and consider that being "done."
And of course I think of how I'll have check-ins with my oncologist sporadically, and the extra "special" monitoring I get to go through for the next several years, and then the rest of my life.
So the reality is what it is. This isn't really over. It's not really done. It never will be. I am changed forever now. There's before cancer, and after cancer. And that makes tears roll down my cheek.
This doesn't mean I'm not celebrating, it doesn't mean I'm not relieved. In another parallel to my divorce experience, I know what it's like to go through a big event like this and have it be a series of milestones that each get mulled and turned over and over in your head, each eliciting any range of feelings and sometimes the full spectrum of emotions all at once, versus one big declaration that you can check off and consider done.
I've got this too.
I'm stronger than I was when I started.
I'm a better version of myself now—"Sara unvarnished," I've been called. :)
And now I should go take a well-deserved nap. :P
***
Next steps
My next step, in addition to continuing the infusions, will be taking a daily hormone pill called Tamoxifen for 5 years. Well, that's the goal.
As I've written previously, I struggle with this part of the treatment, a drug that blocks estrogen, which effectively is rewiring my body, changing my foundation. I hate that. I like my body with estrogen. I appreciate the role it plays in keeping my bones and mind and other parts of my body functioning well.
I understand that I can choose not to do this.
There are no substitutes or alternatives that wouldn't be an extreme step to accomplish the same thing (like surgery), and no options that don't come with similar side effects, because they all have the goal of blocking estrogen. (As a recap, this step is part of my treatment plan because I test positive for estrogen receptors, which makes cancer aggressive.)
This pill has a lot of research behind it. My oncologist said it's equal in importance to receiving chemotherapy. Not taking the pill for 5 years increases the recurrence rate by up to 5 percentage points.
I spoke with different members of my care team and have heard indirect input from friends of friends, and yeah, I've read the message boards too. I know that many women choose not to take it before of the side effects. I know that almost half of women who start the drug stop it because of the side effects.
I told some members of my care team aside from my doctor that I was struggling with the decision, plus my doctor. The consensus was I should at least try it because I already have a playbook for managing symptoms, and it's worked great in treatment so far--I agree with this.
One person also told me, "Sara, I've seen it when cancer comes back. It's harder—it's not like the first time. People get angry. You're going to want the peace of mind that you did everything you could." A sobering perspective.
And yes, my oncologist agreed with the advice to just try it. She said that it takes the body about 3-6 months to adjust to the side effects, and after that, it's easier, so that's what I should aim for.
So the pills are sitting on my counter, waiting for me to start.
I imagine instantly putting on weight, sleepless nights, and brain fog again, and I leave the pills on the counter.
Another day. First, I need to nap.
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