Stages

The cancer removed from me back in December was stage 3. I don't think I've ever really said that out loud... to everyone. I didn't really have time to dwell on it because in less than six hours my surgeon had called to give me news on the completely opposite end of the spectrum - that my bone and CT scans were all negative of cancer: it hadn't spread. Thank you, God.

Life happens in stages. And life dealing with breast cancer - well, I've really learned how to tackle things one stage at a time. I don't often look back anymore - only to see if there's a lesson I can learn from the past, or just to savor how far I've come. And though there's still a long road ahead, I have already come a long way. I've made it through the worst time - the "not-knowing stage" and the "phone-call-where-my-whole-world-collapsed-because-I-heard-it-was-cancer stage."  Then I made it through the "being-poked-and-prodded-to-determine-what's-next stage." I made it through the "got-the-phone-call-from-my-surgeon-we're-going-to-surgery-tomorrow stage." And then, who could forget, I've survived the "waking-up-from-anesthesia-feeling-like-crap-with-an-insensitive-nurse-at-your-bedside stage." (To be fair, she was the only one, and the rest of my hospital stay was great.)

Some of the best stages to have gone through were the following: "spending-the-holidays-at-home-recuperating-from-surgery-and-not-having-to-worry-or-stress-about-anything-because-my-Mom-and-Dennis-took-care-of-everything-for-me stage," the "my-house-looks-like-a-flower-shop-with-all-the-deliveries-from-friends-and-family-I-can't-believe-how-supportive-and-loving-everyone-is stage," and the "thank-heavens-my-surgical-drains-come-out-today-and-I-get-to-finally-feel-like-me-again-and-not-a-walking-Christmas-tree-or-bride-of-Frankenstein stage." Especially memorable were the milestones dealing with my hair (and it's impending loss): there was the "I'm-really-freaked-out-about-losing-my-hair-once-chemo-starts-so-I'm-going-to-get-my-hair-cut-short-really-short-so-I-feel-like-I'm-in-control stage," and then the "today's-the-day-I-shaved-off-my-hair-day-so-I-won't-have-to-watch-it-fall-out-in-clumps-a-week-from-now-and-become-a-wreck-in-my-bathroom stage." The funniest and heart warming ones with friends: the "day-I-got-my-wig-and-Jennifer-watched-me-try-on-blond-wigs-for-Dennis-yeah-that-was-a-miserable-failure-slash-hilarious-endeavor stage," the "proving-to-my-friends-at-work-how-real-my-prosthetic-boob-feels-so-picture-this-four-women-standing-by-the-elevators-and-three-of-them-poking-prodding-and-laughing-while-feeling-me-up stage," and last, but not least, the "day-my-friends-rallied-around-me-and-threw-me-a-hat-and-scarf-party-and-showed-me-how-much-they-love-me stage."

There are of course, the treatment-related challenges that are all stepping stones to the mountain-top goal of being cancer-free... my faves are (and in no particular order): the "realizing-everything-my-doctor-said-would-happen-is-actually-happening stage," the "yes-exercising-regularly-during-chemo-really-works stage," the "I'm-so-relieved-the-world-didn't-end-nor-did-I-burst-into-flames-because-I-walked-around-bald-at-my-gym stage," the "my-doctor-was-right-the-nausea-is-exactly-like-when-I-was-pregnant-but-this-time-I-can-take-meds...hell-yeah stage," the "OMG-I'm-spending-a-romantic-weekend-with-my-husband-he's-so-great-and-here-I-am-one-boob-short-bald-head-can't-imagine-how-I'm-going-to-pull-off-sexy-WTF?! stage," the "I-look-in-the-mirror-and-still-see-me-just-hairless-thinner-blue-fingernails-yes-it's-a-side-effect-long-road-ahead-asking-myself-can-I-do-this-of-course-you-can-crazy-person-talking-to-yourself-in-the-mirror stage," and, drum roll, please - my personal favorite: the "this-is-really-hard-but-it's-not-going-to-kill-me-hard-and-even-though-I-still-have-a-long-way-to-go-when-all-is-said-and-done-I'm-going-to-come-out-of-this-a-better-woman-daughter-wife-mother-friend-and-with-some-pretty-fucking-awesome-tits-I-swear stage!"

Life is a stage and this is my biggest performance yet. In less than two weeks, I'll be done with the first part of my chemo regimen; my Mom will be going home to the Philippines after exclusively dedicating the past four months of her life to me (yes, I panic at the thought of her leaving); and I will begin a 12 week regimen on a new chemo drug that will also mean after it's done in June, I'll only have radiation and then reconstruction surgery left (yes!). More stages, more surviving, more life. Act two here I come... BRING IT ON.