I love roller coasters. My first ride was when I was eight years old. It was on Six Flags Magic Mountain's "Revolution." It had a big dip, a corkscrew, and a vertical loop. It was AMAZING. I loved the speed. I loved the feeling of catching air from my seat that came with the abrupt drops and twists. I loved the head rush I'd get being thrown upside down. I was hooked. I would ride that same coaster more than a dozen times in my youth. I learned to relax my body by moving with the turns and twists. I surrendered to any hesitation and fear by putting both arms up in the air. The wind would rush across my face, and I'd joyfully squeal and scream until the coaster came to a halt. At 47 years old, I still love roller coasters and thrill rides, but this whole "Breast cancer roller coaster" is a beast. I'm not saying breast cancer is a thrilling amusement park ride. Breast cancer sucks. Of course, it is not fun, but I can't help but look at this breast cancer experience as a roller coaster ride.
This past week, I had a bit of a scare. I had an urgent endoscopy and stomach biopsy done due to a "suspicious spot" in a CT scan (see my last post, "Praying for an Ulcer.") A few days later, I got the results. It turns out, I have multiple erosions and inflamed areas in the lining of my stomach. My GI doctor said it is likely attributed to all things chemo that includes the routine steroids, the chemo drugs, and the pain medicines to deal with the chemo pain. Yes, the negative biopsy is still an answered prayer, no cancer cells! The logical side of me knew that the chances of there being any cancer cells in that biopsy (after ten rounds of chemo) was slim. However, I still quickly went to that dark place of fear and anxiety that morning in the ER. Knowing that I was already a part of the "1 in 8 women get breast cancer" statistic, propelled me to believe that the odds were against me yet again. I worried that my chemo treatments weren't working, that my breast cancer was worse than we all thought, and that my prognosis was ominous. My pilot light of hope was momentarily distinguished by my worst fears.
Readers, I'm sorry for taking you with me on my crazy ride this past week. I feel sheepish that all that worry and drama was over "nothing." Ahhhhh-but I guess that is the reality of my breast cancer roller coaster, isn't it? It is an emotional ride. I've prepped the best I could but I've discovered that there is no way to really prepare for this craziness. It would be nice to know how and when this all ends because I'm on this ride whether or I like it or not. The rebounding hope I have of surviving breast cancer has me buckled in tight. I'm going wherever it takes me. I need to embrace the fact that the ups, the downs, the corkscrews, and the vertical loops will not always be predictable. I need to lean into this ride and not fight against the foreseeable or unforeseeable. With surrendered hands up in the air, I will remember to breathe. I will give myself grace when I have to scream or cry out my fears and frustration. The roller coaster will end, and whatever I am experiencing at a particular moment, that too shall pass. -J