Fear and the fall

“Whenever we proceed from the known into the unknown we may hope to understand, but we may have to learn at the same time a new meaning of the word 'understanding.'” - Werner Heisenberg, Physics and Philosophy: The Revolution in Modern Science

So many of my delightful family members gathered 'round our dining table!

I'm still afraid. It's nearing 10 months since I started treatments for breast cancer, and all the initial plans have been completed. Standard chemo infusions over the course of five months: done. Lumpectomy and lymph node dissection: completed. Six weeks of radiation sessions: checked off. If only things were different... I'd be wrapping up this phase of my life.

But, as we know, the unexpected surgery results changed everything (again), and I'm now gearing up for the next challenge. Chemo 2.0.

Aside from the month and a half of radiation treatments five times per week (which really wasn't so bad for me), I've enjoyed the healing time this summer. We hosted 18 family members for a 5+ day visit at the beginning of August - a total blast! Whitewater rafting on the Poudre River, canoeing and paddle-boating on our lake, hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park, and go-karting were among some of our adventures together.

As the summer wanes and fall emerges gradually, seasons are changing in my life, too (funny how that keeps happening...). The date for beginning the chemo pill looms, and I'm feeling the reality of living with cancer anew. I forgot how scary disease can be. You see, in my body and in my head, I feel fine. I look fine... I am fine. Except there's this lurking cancer I can't see or feel or know much about.

With my nephews before our rafting adventure
(photo by Emily Gordon)

Sometimes, I'll get a twinge, usually in my breast where the scar tissue has emerged post-surgery. Other times, I'll notice a tightness under my arm, where lymph nodes were removed. Beneath my skin, the fibers in my breast feel tough and sensitive at once. And, I worry.

Logically, I realize I'm healing as expected. But I don't trust expectations anymore. This triple negative breast cancer (TNBC) is tricky; it's fooled me once by seemingly disappearing and then sneaking into my lymphatic channels while we weren't looking.

I pray a lot. I'm grateful for so much my cancer experience has taught me - about my tribe, my body, my strength, and my purpose. But, I also pray for God to just take this away from me. Yet, I know I don't get to decide what that means or how it works.

Life feels paradoxical, as I inhabit the spaces where my different beliefs co-exist. I believe in God wholeheartedly, and I know miracles can happen. I also believe in medicine and science. The reality is that TNBC is a tough cancer to beat long term. If this lymphatic invasion persists, my cancer will recur or metastasize to a new place in my body. Most women with metastatic TNBC have just a few years to live. I mean... having faith definitely helps with maintaining perspective and positivity. But, I really need science to catch up!

After this capecitabine chemo pill - which I'll take for six months beginning Sept. 12 - my future treatment options really depend on the scientific process at work. New discoveries about cancer occur rapidly these days. There's a lot of promising research being done, specifically on TNBC patients, with immunotherapy. I'm trying to maintain optimism that there will be a clinical trial for which I am eligible. Then, if there is, I hope I get to actually be in the study arm receiving treatment and not the control group. If you ever wonder who or what is orchestrating your life, cancer will challenge you to recognize it's not YOU.

Watching the great solar eclipse from our yard!

I'm in this cancer purgatory, stuck between having an active tumor and being in the clear. The fears are in my head, yet my status remains unknown. Dread creeps on me, and I worry my blood work will show elevated tumor markers. Not knowing has afforded me respite, but it's a mirage. Having six weeks between radiation and chemo-part-deux is a gift and a curse.

That said, there's nothing to do but live fully in the moments I can have with greater certainty. So, tomorrow we get out and carpe diem, in pursuit of once-in-a-lifetime adventure. It's a bucket list trip for Sean and me - we're headed to Alaska to photograph coastal brown bears (the bigger siblings of the lower 48's grizzlies) in a few remote areas. We'll be at Lake Clark and Katmai National Parks for the better part of a week, hoping to capture the bears catching fish during the silver salmon run in lakes and along creeks.

I'm anticipating that watching the bears and salmon move through their cycles of life - one to prepare for a long hibernation, the other to lay eggs and die in the streams where they were born - will evoke wonder and offer perspective. God has a way of finding me in nature. I may not know with the precision and instinct of other wildlife just what my cycle will be. But, I'm going to get up with the breaking day and soak in all that I can of this amazing world.