Three years in

One week from today marks three years since my breast cancer diagnosis. In quick succession after that phone call with my diagnosis, I got a port installed in my chest, had a few months of chemo, a few more months of a second type of chemo, had a bilateral mastectomy that diagnosed me as having stage 3 breast cancer, had six weeks of daily radiation, and started a daily dose of anti-hormone treatment (to be taken for a decade, since my tumor was hormone-fed). A few months later I had a reconstruction. And a year later I had a revision to my reconstruction.

And then six months ago I had a scare. Pain in my ribs on the same side as my tumor had been on. More tests. It ended up being costochondritis. Painful, but not deadly.

I often have people ask if I’m in remission, if I’m done with cancer. My answer is usually, “So far, so good” because the fact is I feel like I’m never done with cancer. I went in for a follow-up with my oncologist yesterday. I walked out with an order for a brain MRI. And lab work because my liver function is suspicious. And a referral to a neurologist because something we’ve done has caused enough pain in my right foot that I limp at times. And a new RX to switch over to a different pill for that decade of meds I’m working on.

So, last night I donned those lovely blue scrubs again for my brain MRI. I should find out today if my breast cancer decided to be, in my oncologist’s words, “mischievous” and head for greener pastures in my liver or brain. Is that likely what’s going on here? Not necessarily. Is it possible. Sure.

So, am I done with cancer? That question is so much more complicated than it seems. I just know it seems like it never ends.