Once you’ve had cancer, you are monitored for reoccurrence. It doesn’t matter if your chances are 1% or 90%; you get to spend time with your oncologist for years afterward.
I see my doctor every 3 months. They take blood, do a physical exam, talk about any tests or therapy I’ve had, and send me on my way.
I see my lymphatic therapist once a month, depending on how often I fly. Due to having 3 lymph nodes removed on my right side during my bilateral mastectomy, my lymphatic system is compromised, and I could get lymphedema. Flying is one of my triggers, so after flying, I need to be seen more often so they can help coax the lymphatic fluids to move off my right side. Other things that can trigger this are heat, having a blood pressure cuff on my right side, needle sticks, and tattoos. My right arm is sacred, and I’m pretty protective of it, as lymphedema is no joke.
Once a year, I get to have a breast MRI. First, I have closterphobia. They are not able to use an open MRI for breast MRIs, which doesn’t help the claustrophobia. During a breast MRI, you’ll lie face down on a padded table with a bowl-type thing to put your face in. The table slides into the opening of the machine. Your chest fits into a hollow space on the table, with your arms resting slightly bent above your head. The procedure is 20 minutes long, and you must hold perfectly still.
My first MRI since being diagnosed was yesterday. I woke up at 5:30 a.m., had the procedure at 6:30 a.m., was home by 7:30 a.m., and started my work day. At around 12:30 p.m., the results were sitting in my patient portal.
My husband sat on the bed while I sat before my computer, pulling up the results.
I don’t know about other people who have had cancer, but for me, there is a constant fear of it returning. Again, it doesn’t matter what your chances are, you have this underlining fear that you’ll have to go through it all again. So, while I read through all the medical jargon to get to the results, I didn’t breathe. I don’t think my husband did either. At the very end…
There is no MRI evidence of malignancy.
A 3-page report that could have led with those words…
We took a minute to cry (tears of relief), called family and friends, and returned to work.
Cancer sucks. And even when it’s gone, the trauma from having it lives on in anxiety, sleepless nights, and constant reminders that we are all mortal. Cancer never stops sucking.