Complicating matters

"Life is a series of experiences, each one of which makes us bigger, even though sometimes it is hard to realize this. For the world was built to develop character, and we must learn that the setbacks and grieves which we endure help us in our marching onward." - Henry Ford

Trying to stay the course to good health,
in spite of a few setbacks and fears

In the middle of last week, I developed a muscle ache in my right shoulder, and I was bummed because it meant I needed to lay off some of the yoga poses I typically do to relax, strengthen, and stretch myself. Over the next couple of days, the pain migrated down my arm to my elbow, and I noticed swelling throughout the area. The tight, swollen skin freaked me out, and I hoped maybe I'd just been ingesting too much salt. I sat around with my arm up over my head, willing the swelling to dissipate.

When I went in for chemotherapy last Friday, I knew I needed to show the nurse my puffy arm and describe the shoulder pain. What I didn't expect was how easily she'd diagnose the underlying issue.

"Yeah...," she said, inspecting my arm and noticing pronounced veins around my shoulder. "It looks like you have a blood clot. I'll talk to your doctor about this and see if we can get you an ultrasound today."

And, thus, a new regimen was born. To make a long story shorter, my 2-hour chemo appointment ballooned into an all-day affair, which included diagnostic tests to confirm there is a clot and identify its extent, an interminably long wait at Walgreens to get new meds, and doubling back to the cancer center for a tutorial on blood thinners.

The blood clot starts adjacent to the chemo port that was installed on the upper right-hand side of my chest, and it extends down my arm. Blood thinners are necessary to reduce the coagulation, and (according to my oncologist) it's not safe for cancer patients to take a pill to thin it out.

All of this means I have to receive shots to reduce coagulation. Twice a day. For three months or until the port is removed.

So - in yet another turn of great heroism - my incredible husband Sean is injecting my abdomen morning and night with blood thinners. Thank goodness for him! I've always been queasy about blood, shots, needles, etc. I knew I'd struggle to do this to myself, and he's willingly assumed the role.

To my head, this complication feels like two steps back, after celebrating the good "step forward" news about my tumor dissipating. I'm finding it difficult to reframe this setback as just a small hiccup in my larger process.

It doesn't help that looming ahead this Friday is my genetic counseling appointment to begin the exploration of whether my breast cancer is at all tied to my genes. Truly, I'm frightened to my core about the possible test results, since having a genetic mutation to BRCA1 or BRCA2 would mean I'm at an increased risk of cancer recurrence. Being diagnosed with breast cancer under age 50 is a possible sign of some mutation being present, and triple negative cancers like mine are more frequently linked to BRCA1 mutations than other types of breast cancer are.

Having been through fewer than half of my chemo treatments now (9 more to go!), I can say definitively that I NEVER want to do this again. If a BRCA1 or BRCA2 mutation is present, the best way for me to reduce the risk of developing breast cancer again or ovarian cancer will be to do a double mastectomy and a hysterectomy. I mean... ARRRRGGGGHHH!!! That sounds unbelievably atrocious right now. I just want to be healthy, to go back to a "normal" life, to see fewer hospitals and doctors and specialists and surgeons. So, the unknown of the test results - which I may not receive for a month - is dampening my spirit and preventing me from feeling very hopeful.

Trying to stay positive in the face of these real and possible complications is tough. Although I'm not trying to "borrow trouble," as my mother-in-law cautions me against doing, I do feel a need to be informed about the possibilities ahead. I'm accepting all prayers and good vibes for no mutation to be present, strength and peace in the face of the unknown, hope for thriving and surviving whatever comes my way, and wisdom for my caregivers. This process is all part of my life journey, whether I want it or not, and I'm endeavoring to come to terms with it. I know that I am stronger than this cancer, especially with the support of my community and network.

I just have to keep reminding myself of that... Every. Single. Day.