3, 2, now 1: Last chemo

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race,

I have kept the faith. -2 Timothy 4:7

7.20.2020 || Tomorrow marks the LAST infusion of neoadjuvant chemotherapy for my stage 3 Invasive lobular breast cancer (ILBC.) Yay! Cheers! Woohoo! Yes! I am so happy to be done!! It's hard to believe six months have passed since that first Valentine's Day infusion. My body, mind, and spirit have been challenged, stretched, and (yes) tormented in ways I could never imagine, but I'm still here. Thank you, Jesus, I am still standing. That fighting spirit that I didn't think I had continues to cling to the hope of complete remission. Some days, I looked like I was barely shuffling in place; other times, I charged forward with determination. Due to the cumulative effects of fatigue, lately, I have been "still" a lot. One of my favorite authors, Sue Monk Kidd, describes that growth and transformation can also happen while being still. In her book, When the Heart Waits, she talks about how a caterpillar must stop in its place to begin the formation of the chrysalis. With more time and patience, a butterfly emerges. I love that analogy. Being still is one of the gifts of cancer. With time, more of me will be revealed. Even when something stops me in my tracks, I intend for my stillness to birth something good.

I know it sounds absurd to say cancer is a gift, but that's how I choose to view it. Breast cancer has been my season of revealing and revelation. It has shown me (and perhaps others) who I am, how I cope, what my body can endure, and what is important. I've had to come to terms with my mortality. Being still has allowed me to reflect on what my life looks like and how I want it to be after all this active treatment is completed. What kind of legacy do I want to leave behind? In my cancer treatment, I've also had to be vulnerable. I've had to rely on others' help and trust the process of cancer treatment even when it felt unnatural. It has been a humbling experience. Through it all, I've discovered who are my biggest supporters and who are my cherished friends. I've seen that goodness and compassion still exist, and I know now who I can trust to be at my side during my darkest times. That discovery has been a gift.

One of the reasons I started this blog was to document my experience and reflect. Let's look back at my February 9, 2020 blog entry "Feelings," shall we?

February 9, 2020 "Feelings"

"As I approach Chemo #1 of 16 infusions, the thoughts that cross my mind are

1) Am I strong enough to get through chemotherapy?

2) Will I lose my will because I feel so miserable from it?

3) How will I really feel when I lose all my hair?

4) How will my family feel as they watch me whining like a big wimp?

I'm sad. I'm also very worried that I'll go through this all and the results aren't what we want. What if it doesn't work? I want more time to be me. The Jaide that feels strong, healthy and vibrant. I want to be able to recognize myself at the end of all of this. What if I don't?"

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My response to that blog entry TODAY:

1) Am I strong enough to get through chemotherapy? Why, yes, I am. If any readers are going through chemotherapy now, you are too! I got suckered punch a few times, but I am still standing. Chemotherapy drugs are no joke. It has been the toughest thing my body ever had to go through. But fighting cancer shouldn't be easy, right? I am extremely thankful for my anti-nausea/pain meds, essential oils, my heating pad, and bubble baths for getting me through the tough side effects. Thank God for podcasts (Crime Junkie and Breast Cancer is Boring), Netflix, and Korean Dramas for those days I needed to just be in bed all day.

2) Will I lose my will because I feel so miserable from it? There were definitely dark times. I dreaded infusion days. When I didn't physically feel well, it was depressing. How did I get through it? I'm an imperfect, work- in -progress Jesus-loving woman. Yes, my faith has been the framework for my perspective and a crucial foundation to what some people see as my "positive outlook despite everything." I believe that there is a mysterious power greater than me and greater than my cancer. That puts the pressure off me. I do my part in regards to researching my medical options, but I also surrender the outcome and process to He that is greater than me. What a difference that makes when I compare my life and coping skills before having Christ in my life. It's a perspective and mind-renewing difference. I also have had so many people loving on my family and me. Whether it was a kind word, a meal dropped off, a text message, snail mail card/letter, or Facebook message from an old friend across the world, those things continue to give me such joy and encouragement.

My will was challenged. I've had plenty of disappointments and worries while on this roller coaster ride. Despite all the scares and sucker punches, I still wanted to keep getting back up. It's human nature to hope; otherwise, we would never feel disappointed and we can all say we've experienced some kind of disappointment, right? Therefore, I own all my feelings of hope and all the disappointment that goes along with it. To get through it, I lamented (way too often) in my prayers and to my closest peeps. I trusted they could handle my vulnerability and complaints with grace and compassion. They also somehow manage to make me laugh (a lot), and they always pointed me towards hope. I'm so thankful for them.

3) How will I really feel when I lose all my hair? I'm so okay with it. Prior to being bald, I spent a lot of time blow drying my hair, flat ironing it, and using lots of products to keep my naturally wavy hair from revealing itself. It is so much easier to be bald. I love playing with different head coverings and scarves. As my hair grows out, I will probably continue to wear them until it's at an acceptable "pixie cut" length. The only thing that is bothering me now is the loss of my eyebrows. I make lots of facial expressions, and without the brows, I think I look funny. Without the brows, I think I actually look like a cancer patient. So--I draw them in every day. It takes a while, but it is now part of my morning routine, and it's also my daily "art therapy"! Ha! I find a strange satisfaction getting the perfect brow arch drawn!

4) How will my family feel as they watch me whining like a big wimp? I find this question weird now. It reveals how overly concerned I was about what my behavior would look like during my treatment. My family has been great. They have not shown any disgust, disappointment, or pity towards me during my moments of weakness. Why was I worried about that? During this whole ordeal, my family and extended family have been nothing but supportive and encouraging. They've given me the quiet space I need to rest. My husband has taken such good care of me by anticipating my needs. My kids have stepped up to do the things I usually would have done. They've made meals, kept the house clean, and do their laundry. I'm amazed and proud. I love that they have also shown to be resilient during this sheltering in place/COVID-19 times. They continue to express themself in art and music. I hear them laugh and complain about things that tweens/teens should find annoying. I'm relieved to hear and see all of that. It all feels so normal, and I want that for them. It is good.

I'm sad. I'm also very worried that I'll go through this all and the results aren't what we want. What if it doesn't work? I want more time to be me. The Jaide that feels strong, healthy and vibrant. I want to be able to recognize myself at the end of all of this. What if I don't? I'm still Jaide. I'm more relaxed and less anxious, which probably has a lot to do with having a healthy sleep schedule because I haven't gotten this much rest, ever. However, there are days when all I can do is lie down and watch TV for 6 hours because I feel so weak, but I've learned to give myself grace. I don't beat myself up anymore for not getting my tasks done. Right now, my job is beating cancer and staying alive. I'm still a wife. I am still a mom to my three kiddos. I am still a big sister/daughter. I am still your friend. I am still a Nurse-Midwife. Cancer and the treatment haven't changed my soul. It's refining me as it's revealing me. That is also a gift, and that has been my revelation during chemotherapy.

As I move through my treatment journey, I know I still have many steps to take. My double mastectomy is next month. Then, I'll have twenty-five rounds of targeted radiation therapy. Next year, I'll have reconstruction/revision surgery. I'll also begin daily hormone therapy. Then, I hope I'll experience that much anticipated moment of being "disease-free."

Whether I'm staying still, shuffling along doing baby steps or charging forward in big, bold steps, I will continue to walk in faith. I will embrace each day and the lessons and people it brings into my life. I will continue to love my God and love others the best that I can, and I pray that I can be a light of hope for others. -Jaide