“As long as we both shall live.” || October 4, 2016
Tuesday morning travels to Albany are something we have gotten used to; not having an appointment last week left us feeling like we were forgetting to do something. Today marked my first follow up appointment after finishing chemo and even though I wasn’t going to be spending my day in the brown chair, the drive felt the same: Not saying much to each other, still feeling nervous, trying to remember questions you never wrote down because “I’ll remember, I don’t need to write it down”, wondering which nurse will draw my blood and hoping it’s the nurse that is “so good I can’t even feel the needle anymore”.
Most times we just look over at each other, knowing and not needing to say anything. As soon as we approach exit 4 on I90, we can see the big NYOH building from the highway. The deep breaths start and the anxiety sets in even more, it’s a recurring feeling that hasn’t stopped since the first time we arrived at their doors on April 26th, a week before the the idea of treatment became a reality. It’s the car ride that I allow myself to feel that anxiety, because the minute I step in the doors, and take one more deep breathe, I look around and know that I am in good hands and surrounded by people feeling that same weekly anxiety, so many people who are going through much harder times than I.
As Mark and I were explaining how we were feeling during the drive this morning, Dr. T pointed out that it was because “your safety net is gone”. How right she was. I remember sitting in her office weeks ago, approaching the end of chemo and breaking down crying for the same reason. Now it was a reality: the safety net of chemotherapy killing all the bad stuff in my body was now over. We sat and listened to Dr. T explain our steps after radiation is done: talking about new studies of using an injectable ovarian suppressor, in addition to an aromatase inhibitor that we knew I would have to take for at least the next 5 years. She reviewed the studies with us, and explained how it is showing decreased “recurrence rates”, increased “survival rate” in younger women with breast cancer, how it will affect overall “quality of life”. The words in parentheses were the only words we were hearing today. It was clear that, while this is a curable disease, it is not one that comes and goes without long term effects and decisions, and a whole lot of anxiety.
As we stood in line to schedule my two month follow up appointment, Mark looked at me, knowing what I was thinking: “It’s not coming back Sam, this was a fluke.” I nodded my head, and mustered the words “I know”, not really knowing if I could or would ever truly believe that. But what I did know, was that when you have someone standing by your side, who believes in you and loves you whether it comes back or not, and shares that same anxiety with you, that is a pretty good feeling.
We conquered chemo together, we’ll conquer radiation together and we’ll conquer whatever comes after that. Because that’s what you do, in sickness and in health.