Episode 7 - A Day in the Life with Metastatic Breast Cancer

Happy Chanukah to all who celebrate the festival of lights, and welcome back to my day to day exploration of living with this ridiculous scourge. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to be focusing on the pretty lights, and remembering it ain’t always about cancer!

Yes, it is true! Believe it or not, there will come a day when you realize some things that happen in your life - whether good or bad - have nothing to do with breast cancer! Staggering epiphany, I know. Let me illustrate with an example from earlier this month.

I went to my much loved Pilates Reformer class, and as usual, it kicked my butt in a most satisfying way. As I was catching my breath, and cooling down, I was on the floor retrieving exercise equipment I’d stashed under the Reformer machine. I was just finishing wiping things down when stupidness occurred. Mine, of course. The long, narrow, and heavy (did I say heavy?) weight bar I’d used, and propped next to the machine at the end of class started to fall. Pure, dumb reflex caused me to put up my left hand to catch it. Well, caught it I did, but it was so heavy it took my poor little left hand all the way to the floor with a resounding crash. In the battle between that well known rock and a hard place - in this case metal bar, and floor - my hand was smashed between them. Instant swelling, lurid bruising, and not a little bit of pain. My wonderful instructor, Antje immediately produced a cold pack, and I thought I would be ok in a couple of days. Nope.

Two days later, the swelling was not a lot better, and I was concerned. Annoyed, and concerned, so off to Urgent Care I went. Results? Hairline fracture middle finger, left hand. Fuckety, fuck, fuck, fuck! 

See? What did I tell you? Crap completely and utterly unrelated to breast cancer happens to you, too! Yeah. But, you know what? What happens to you even when battling cancer can also be sweet, and funny, and tender, and full of life. Despite it all, I find I am, perhaps, more than ever open to the joy that insists on showing up. I hope you will be, too. Because living with the ever dangling Damocles Sword of what happens when the meds stop working is exhausting. Let me share what I’ve found that works for me to stave off that anxiety.

Despite my new found suspicion regarding formal exercise, and the perils therein, I must note how much lower ARE my anxiety levels when I keep to a regular workout routine. The combination of making myself get up, get dressed, smear on a little lipstick (so I don’t frighten the horses), walk over to the Y, speak with nice people, and then spend an hour in concentrated movement makes me more calm. It might be the only hour I have all day free from stressing, but what an hour it is.

I also meditate daily, and have made a point to listen to music I love every day. I’ve also begun singing again. Not for anyone else, mind you, just for myself. Torch songs, opera, jazz standards - whatever strikes my fancy. I find it is nearly impossible to maintain a high level of anxiety while belting out a Billie Holiday tearjerker, or a bit of Puccini. God knows what my neighbors think. Do I care? I do not! Now, then, what else works? Hmm.

I understand sex is great for anxiety reduction, but will have to take that on faith, as it has been too long since I’ve indulged, and I am not sure I remember. Ok, ok, I remember just fine. And it DOES help! Dammit. It really does.

Lastly, I read. A lot. I’ve found a couple of writers whose prose really quiet my mind when I’m particularly spun. Right now, it’s Joan Didion, and Haruki Murakami, but the point is to find things that work for you, and do them. 

So! Enjoy the season, remember your life is, and will continue to be filled with non-cancer related pursuits, and you must, must, must work hard to quell that existential angst. It ain’t good for you.

And that’s all I’ve got for today, my lovelies! Except to remind you again to try to calm the fuck down. It’s important. You deserve your serenity, wherever you find it.