Tackling the Mental Battle

You may have to fight the battle more than once to win it. – Margaret Thatcher  

I have used that quote many times in my career to carry myself through. I work in the transportation industry; a very male dominated industry. Never did I think it would apply to my life, literally. In the beginning I was very optimistic that I would fly through this. As the months have drawn on I am still optimistic, I just seem to have miss-placed my pom-poms. I approached my diagnosis in December knowing that after surgery and an eight week round of chemotherapy I would emerge victorious and glowing on the other side. Worst case scenario was I would lose some weight and get a great set of size “C’s” put back up where they belong. I couldn’t have missed the mark on this one by any more than I did. I have gained twenty-seven pounds, much due to steroids. And to be real honest, nothing is glowing. Well maybe if I stand too close to the microwave at the quickie-mart (thank you chemo). Breast cancer steals a lot of things from you. Time, family, sometimes your hair, my son’s innocents, way too much money. As confident as I may appear, I think the way I view myself has suffered the worst. My expectations of myself have always been very high. Much more so then the general public would ever put on me. I will begin my third round of Chemo on May first. Each round has taken a toll on my physical as well as my mental well being. The first eight weeks was a physical fight. My hair thinned, I barfed a lot, but I dealt with it. The second eight weeks it remained physical, I gained 27 pounds, I barfed a lot, and I continued to deal with it. I will begin my third eight weeks next Friday. It is less physical and becoming increasingly mental this time. I still get up every day and go to work. But there is less of a happy face. This has become a huge inconvience to me. In the beginning I was willing to make some adjustments for the short term goal. It will be six months after this round and there aren’t any guarantees. Three days ago I was taking a shower in the evening, the kind of shower that used to be relaxing before bed. I tend to do my self exams ever few days while in the shower. Soap makes a great “boob lube” (makes your finger tips slide easier). I think I feel something but I’m not really sure, or so I try to convince myself. So I yell for, of all people, my ex husband. I figure he should have some recollection of the terrain. At first he doesn’t feel it. I’m getting frantic because I know it’s there. I’m grabbing his hand and yelling “no over here” and moving his hand. And then I see the blood drain out of his face. He’s felt it also. I literally feel like I could faint. How can this be? I haven’t missed any of my meds. How could something have grown while we were trying to shrink a tumor on the other side? And so help me God if you tell me “sometimes this happens” I will find the strength to slap the taste out of your mouth. I cannot control Breast cancer. I can take the medicines and follow all the rules. I can eat right and rest. But ultimately, regardless of how optimistic I truly am, I have no control over this. I am at the point I feel like it would be easier to ignore this then deal with it. Every time I think I am two steps forward I get slammed back three steps. A couple of summers ago I was dating someone that loved to pick at me about my control issues. I should mention here that he also had an alpha personality (that’s the polite way of saying he was a control freak also). He used to tell me that deep down I really was this girlie-girl that wanted someone to lean on. I would laugh and tell him that he had lost his mind. What I recall the most about him is how he became that person I could always lean on. But he did it in a way that never made me feel weak. I always felt safe and protected around him. I long for that now. Not necessarily the companionship part, but just to feel safe, protected from this disease.