All the small things

"Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies." - Mother Teresa 

Just shy of six weeks ago, I wrapped up chemotherapy. A month ago, my chemo port was removed from its perch a few inches below my clavicle. And tomorrow, I will be at the surgery center in Fort Collins bright and early for the long-awaited removal of whatever cancerous tissue remains in my left breast and connected lymph nodes.

In November when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, my immediate (but inexperienced and under-informed) reaction was "get this thing out of me!" Being able to feel a mass - hard and unmoving inside my body - was frightening. Of course, my knowledgeable oncologist devised a treatment plan that began with chemo to shrink the tumor. For six months, I've been living with this thing in my chest, and over time it has dwindled in size.

Smaller and smaller... the cancerous lump has melted to a point that no doctor or nurse has been able to feel it since December. But, for all we know, that small thing is still in me - until tomorrow.

Putting on my "tough girl" face & heading out for a long walk

Although I haven't had treatments or doctor's appointments since my last blog post, small things that aren't cancer have been happening. And, those are worth celebrating!

1. The hair on my head is slooowwwly starting to grow back. I have a little light baby fuzz across my scalp, downy like the feathers of the adorable goslings swimming across our lake this time of year.
2. Teeny tiny eyelashes are returning to frame my eyes, after disappearing in late March and leaving me to master the art of applying enough eyeliner to mask their absence. (Other body hair is also making a comeback, but I must admit I have not missed the shaving routine!)
3. Most of my finger and toenails have stopped splitting. For months, I've been applying tea tree oil daily to keep my nails clean and strong. Of late, my nails have been toughening up and looking much better.
4. My skin - although endlessly dry from the lack of humidity in Colorado (a mixed blessing, for sure) - is returning to a peachy pink color, rather than having the washed out and yellowish tint it developed during chemo.
5. I think the chemo brain is gone! I most certainly feel less scattered and forgetful. Instead of having to write everything down or be frustrated by not recollecting normal life stuff, I'm able to trust my memory once again.
6. I feel almost normal. My energy levels have balanced out, and, although I continue to take it easy when I am able, the fatigue that plagued me during chemo is greatly reduced. I actually have been running (slowly and at intervals) with Sean in the past week, and it feels good to push my body a bit.

In many ways, my body is mirroring the spring that's bursting into color and activity all around me. My mood is lighter, and my heart is happier. All the small things are adding up to a big change in my attitude and outlook.

Don't get me wrong, I am beginning to feel nervous for tomorrow's lumpectomy and lymph node removal. I will, of course, have to dial back my activity for a bit while I heal from the procedure (I can hear my mother-in-law gently encouraging me, "don't overdo it"). And, I'm not excited about the logistics of the surgery. Tomorrow I have to return to the same breast diagnostic center where I first was confronted with the reality of having cancer, in order to undergo an ultrasound to locate the "clips" - markers placed in my breast and lymph node during the initial biopsy - and have long wires inserted into me so the surgeon knows precisely where to cut and look for the cancer. And, oh-the-joy, I get to be awake for that part. Then I'll head into surgery, where I'll (mercifully) be anesthetized. The process is outpatient, so it's expected that I'll be released from recovery by noon mountain time. Sean and my parents will be here to support and help me out, but it'll only be me in the operating room. I'm already reminding myself to take deep breaths and say a prayer in the most challenging moments.

There will be another waiting game even after I'm home and recuperating. The pathologist's report on whatever cells are removed by the surgeon will come back days from now. Then, we'll know - is the small thing that changed my life in November still there at all? Is there any cancer that survived the chemical onslaught? More decisions lie ahead... for now, I'm going to take one day after the next.

Cancer is a part of life, but it's not and never will be the defining element for me. I'm grateful for the wonderful things in my life that are not cancer - my loving family, my thoughtful friends, my amazing husband, my sweet kitty, our beautiful home, abundant sunshine, baby hairs on my head, a flexible job, supportive colleagues, and capable doctors, nurses, and caregivers. All those things give me strength and peace and love. 

And, those things aren't really that small at all.