My Rowboat - 8/31/22

Two years, 24 months, 730 days, 17,520 hours, or 1,052,200 minutes ago, I was being wheeled into an operating room on our 18th wedding anniversary, in tears, scared to death. I was putting my body in the hands of 2 skilled surgeons for a procedure that would rob me of my breasts, take away the sensation in my chest, and change my life forever.

Two years, 24 months, 730 days, 17,520 hours, or 1,052,200 minutes ago, we started the 5-10 year plan to try to keep my breast cancer (Stage 1a, ER+/PR-, HER2-, Invasive Ductal Carcinoma) from returning.

Two years, 24 months, 730 days, 17,520 hours, or 1,052,200 minutes ago, I became considered “NED” or in remission. Am I grateful to be alive? Of course, I am! Why wouldn’t I be? But Survivorship is not easy. It’s not all rainbows & unicorns. You don’t just return to your life before you heard the words “you have breast cancer” and pick up where you left off. It’s not that easy.

Survivorship is like being pushed out to sea in a wooden rowboat with a pair of oars and a life vest. The group of people you have grown to trust who have been leading you to this point on your path now tell you that you need to get from where you are to the other side. But you can’t see the other side because it’s so far away. They have formulated a “plan” to get you there, but it’s just that…a plan. And as everyone knows, plans can change. They are not written in stone.

So, you reluctantly step into the rowboat, still scared, but try your best to look across the vast unknown and focus forward, not backward, from where you have been. You paddle with the oars as best as possible and trust that the rowboat will get you there. Occasionally, you find water in your rowboat, and you panic. You stress and worry that you are sinking into the dark abyss below you. You know that if you do, it will take everything in your power to get back to the surface and just keep your head above water. At that point, because your rowboat will be gone, you will have to rely on the life vest to carry you to the other side or at least as far as it can.

The only thing you can do is find the water's source. You call out for help, and voices instruct you what to do. They say to investigate the area where the water is. Can you find it? Sometimes it’s easy, and you realize it’s just water splashed into the boat from your rowing. You can dry it out and resume paddling. But it is a slow, daily grind that you are living. Some days you have smooth water. Your paddling takes you far, and you are content and making forward progress. But other days, the water becomes choppy and harder to manage. Your body becomes sore, aches, and you just want to turn around. But you know it’s impossible, and you don’t want to return anyway. You just need to keep paddling.

Two years, 24 months, 730 days, 17,520 hours, or 1,052,200 minutes ago, I started this journey with my amazing husband and boys by my side and family and friends supporting us from the sidelines. I trust in my doctors that we are doing everything possible to get me and my rowboat across to the other side. I take it a day at a time, and today, I can say I’ve made it this far. It hasn’t been easy, but I will keep paddling. “Et tamen surgo” – and still I rise.