Exactly one year ago today (21 Feb 2020) I
received the news that the breast cancer I was treated for in 2011-2012 had
returned but this time in my bones. Metastatic Bone Disease. Currently there is
no cure for it and at the time of my diagnosis average survival was measured in
a mere handful of years – less than 3.5 in fact.
I spent the
first six months being angry and anxious. And terrified. I panicked and spent
hours and days and probably weeks researching ways to beat the odds. Obsessed
would be an accurate description … and terrified. Did I mention that I was
terrified ALL THE TIME? Every minute of every day I obsessed over the things I
could do that might increase my lifespan and along the way I forgot to keep
living. I was frightened of food and anything that wasn’t designed specifically
to foil the cancer that had invaded my body. It’s fair to say that when Pete
was diagnosed with Myeloma in July my fear, anxiety and anger went up
exponentially.
Fast forward to August and a switch to a new
oncologist and into the private health system. After feeling like just another
number in the public system, and questioning why it took more than 2 years to
diagnose my various pains correctly, I decided to look elsewhere for better
care. No longer content with a standard
of care based on statistics and the government budget, rather than on me as an
individual, I found a new specialist.
He’s a cracker. Slightly socially awkward, quirky
and highly intelligent. I liked him immediately and felt at ease. At my first
meeting with him he got straight to business with a thorough physical exam and
a referral for a scan he was shocked hadn’t already been ordered under my
previous specialist. He explained his plan for how he would like to proceed, asked
for our agreement and answered our questions. I immediately felt better
supported and listened to than I had for the previous 6 months. I also felt
hopeful for the first time.
The scan showed that the cancer had spread further
even with the treatment I was having. Obviously the standard treatment was not
working well for me so my new oncologist added another drug to my protocol. The
result was nothing short of miraculous with a follow up scan in October showing
that the addition of the new drug had put me into remission. That means that
the cancer has not only stopped spreading but has been rendered inactive by the
treatment. It’s still there but not doing anything. Eventually the treatment
will stop working and I will no longer be in remission, the cancer will become
active again and I will change over to a new treatment protocol. With luck the
next treatment will also work for a while, keeping the cancer at bay, and the
cycle will continue until there are no more treatments to try.
Being in remission means I have more time. The
longer I stay in remission the longer I keep living. Another scan this past
week shows that I’m still in remission which is amazing and wonderful. I’ll
have another scan in 6 months.
What all this means for me is that I no longer
feel like I’m dying from cancer but that I’m living with it. My pain is mostly
controlled, my treatment has fallen into a steady routine and I feel hopeful of
surviving much longer than my original prognosis. It doesn’t mean I don’t still
have challenges to face or that the treatment is particularly easy to endure.
Just this week a routine injection resulted in internal bleeding from a clipped
artery in my abdomen. A few weeks ago I spent a very long day in Accident and
Emergency with chest pains. I’ve had allergic reactions to various pain
medications and I don’t sleep well most nights. I take several medications to
combat the side effects of the cancer treatments. Sometimes my leg loses
strength completely and unexpectedly. But for every challenge I face I’m
finding more and more reasons to love the life I have.
Living with incurable cancer isn’t so bad when
there’s less pain and more hope. I’m blessed with the love and support of an
amazing husband, a loving family and more than my fair share of incredible
friends. I now have a naturopath, an integrative GP and an oncologist on my care
team and they are all open to using traditional and complimentary therapies together.
I have a fantastic metastatic breast care nurse from the McGrath Foundation who
checks in with me regularly and whom I can call anytime with questions or just
to unload.
One year since my diagnosis and I can finally
look forward to living well in the months and years ahead. For all it’s
challenges life is good.
