I thought I was bigger than this. Bigger and braver.
But, still, every once in a while, cancer slaps me in the face when I least expect it.
I expect it when I visit my young survivor message board. I expect it when I learn that we've lost yet another member (RIP Amanda) or learn that someone else has had disease progression.
I expect it as I approach my every 3 month series of medical appointments. That series is approaching rapidly. In the course of less than 2 weeks, I see my medical oncologist for a "routine" check up, I get a an infusion of Zometa to prevent bone mets, I see my internist and I will visit a new-to-me cardiologist. That makes me a little anxious. I prefer to see doctors I know personally. I admit I am considering changing the appointment to one of the cardiologists I do know. I also hate filling out the new patient forms. They never leave enough room for my list of surgeries and medical history.
Cardiologist, you ask? Why am I adding YET another doctor to my list?? The answer is two-fold (three fold, if count that my internist has been insisting on it for 2 years and I've been ignoring her). One is that some chemo drugs can be quite toxic to the heart. The other, more pressing reason is that my mother had her first MI at 51, not too deep into menopause. I am in menopause, thanks to removal of my ovaries, and I have inherited some of her other issues as well. In the "pro" column is the fact that unlike mom, I have never been a smoker, and I exercise regularly.
That brings me to the next source of recent anxiety. I added yet another exercise class to my weekly routine this week. I started taking Zumba, a Latin dance based exercise class. Think fast paced Latin music coupled with aerobic dance heavily infused with moves from salsa, mambo, chacha, etc. It's not quite what I am used to. The warm-up is not exactly what I'd call a warm-up. It is fun, though.
But that's not what caught me surprise.
It was the locker room. (cue deep dark music)
I have been taking ballet classes for a year now. I do change my clothes in a locker room on a regular basis. I don't know why this was suddenly such a hard thing for me. I didn't expect it. All of a sudden, I was extremely self conscious of the long scars that run from under my arms, across each breast, to the edge of my sternum. I know my scars are fading. I know that I have amazingly realistic tattoos (areolae) that make the scars less prominent in appearance. I bet no one would notice unless they were looking. And who really looks in a crowded locker room? Those facts were no comfort at that moment in time. All of a sudden, I was reminded that I am still considered a breast cancer patient and will, for all intents and purposes, no matter what my disease status, will always still be a breast cancer patient. I can't hide from that when I am naked in a group of strangers.
