People have asked me how I’m able to stay so courageous in the face of all that I’m going through. While I would love to say it’s all courage and strength, the reality is, a big chunk of it is ignorant bliss. My mindset has always been, “I’m not going to panic until I know there’s something to panic about”. It’s a philosophy that’s served me well through the many corporate restructures, layoffs and generally shitty life changes I’ve had zero control over. For me, cancer has conveniently fit into the latter category and I’ve done a relatively good job of not pulling at every loose string of fear that could unravel the entire security blanket. I’m fortunate enough to have several women I’m in touch with who have gone through the same cancer diagnosis/mastectomy/chemo/radiation/reconstruction journey and they survived and are living full, healthy post-treatment lives. I don’t actually know anyone who has died of this and haven’t actively feared for my life.
And then I started reading Caitlin Brodnick’s book, Dangerous Boobies. Caitlin’s family has the BRCA1 mutation (I have BRCA2 – similar, but different) and they’ve lost many family members to cancer. The one that shook me was her Aunt, who successfully went through treatment of Pancreatic Cancer, only to die months later, at 33, of a blood clot. A BLOOD CLOT. I read this as this woman survived her cancer diagnosis, successfully completed her chemo and radiation regimen and then died of a fucking blood clot after the fact. That fact is terrifying. So then of course at 11pm last night, after I read that line, I started thinking about how this is definitely going to happen to me and it’s not just about getting through chemo and radiation and reconstruction (which is a lot, mind you), but now I have to worry about all of the dumb ways to die that are totally unrelated and absolutely coming for me. (I actually have no idea if they’re related at all, but I’m not up to googling how common this occurrence is just yet).
On top of this newfound fear bouquet, my 2nd AC chemo appointment is this coming Thursday (3 days from now), and it’s after that where I’ll start losing my hair. Everyone dreads this part, but I’m particularly anxious about it. Not to brag, but I have fantastic hair. I don’t love all of my features (I mean, who does?), but I hit the hair lottery. It’s fine and soft, but there’s lots of it, it takes color easily, blowdries easily, and air dries into gorgeous waves. I can have a fantastic hair day by just putting a little bit of product into my hair and walking out the door. I mean, who gets that lucky? I do, and then I get cancer. The universe has a wicked sense of humor.
That said, I’m doing everything I can to save whatever hair I can. I’m the proud owner of a Paxman Cold Cap, which will save 50% of my hair, at best. But every strand I don’t lose is one that I don’t have to regrow and it supposedly helps with the migraines that accompany chemo as well as helping my hair grow back in faster. All of those sound like wins, so the cost and extra 2 hours it tacks onto my chemo appointments seems worth it.
In spite of all of this I’m ok guys. I don’t want you worrying I’m drowning in the murky waters of Cape Fear. But, reading this book has been a chilling reminder of how differently cancer manifests in everyone and that finishing treatment isn’t necessarily the end. It’s a big step in the journey, but I’m coming to grips with the reality that it might not be the tidy little conclusion to the story I’ve been hoping for.
Meghan Has Breast Cancer 
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