Tag: breast cancer

SURVIVING AND THRIVING

Published on by Aimee Eddy2 Comments

October is a special month for me. It’s not because of Halloween, but something dearer to my heart. It’s special because it’s breast cancer awareness month. Some of you may know that I am a breast cancer survivor. This year is six years cancer free. This month we celebrate those who are fighting, those who fought, and those who survived. We also bring awareness to this awful disease.

I can remember the phone call I got six years ago telling me they found something in my mammogram. Tears filled my eyes, and fear filled my soul. I sat in the bathroom at work with my phone, tearfully telling my husband. He talked to me until I calmed down. Then I pulled myself together and went to work. The days and weeks after that were nightmares. I had to get a biopsies in three spots.

After the biopsies they took me to a room where I sat for several minutes. Then a lady came in; I wasn’t sure if she was a doctor, a nurse, or a technician. She stood in front of me and told me there was a high chance I had breast cancer, but the results of the biopsies would not be in for a couple of days. I left the room crying and entered the waiting room where my husband was waiting.

The worst part was waiting for the results over Memorial Day weekend. It was painstaking. I couldn’t help but worry, cry, and worry some more. The day after Memorial Day I did not get a phone call with my results, so the next day I called in the morning, and they said the doctor would call me back. By lunchtime I called again, and they told me the same thing: the doctor would call. My husband and I went to my parents’ house, and I called the doctor’s office once again. This time the doctor called a few minutes later and the words, “You have cancer,” tore my insides apart.

I was lucky. Because I did my yearly mammogram my cancer was caught early, and I didn’t need chemo. However, my journey was not easy. I had the BRCA gene which can cause both breast and ovarian cancer. I had to choose to either have a lumpectomy and risk the chance of cancer returning or eliminate the risks by undergoing a double mastectomy. I agonized over this decision. How could I give up the part of my body that made me a woman? But I couldn’t risk getting cancer again. So, I got a double mastectomy and three months after that a full hysterectomy.

I grieved over the loss of my breasts. I struggled with the decision of possibly going through more surgeries to get reconstruction. I worried that I would look ugly without breasts and my husband wouldn’t look at me the same, but I hated the idea of going through more surgeries. I decided to go flat-chested. Well, not completely flat. I have some extra skin left in case I decide to get reconstruction. There’s enough skin to wear a size A cup bra.

It took time to learn to love myself as a woman without breasts. Six years later I’m happy not having to wear bras, to not have them bounce, to not get rashes under them, and to be a survivor. My story could be a lot worse if I hadn’t gotten my yearly mammogram. The BRCA gene makes cancer more aggressive. If I hadn’t gotten my yearly test, I may not have been here today.

If I see another woman struggling with cancer, I make it a point to tell her I’m a survivor and I’m praying for her. I’ve gotten tearful hugs; I’ve listened to women talk about their battles, and I have cried with them. No one’s struggle is easy or the same.

I am happy with my body and my husband tells me each day how beautiful I am. I look in the mirror and see my scarred chest and smile. I smile because I fought a horrible battle and now I’m a survivor and I’m thriving. I’m proud to tell others about how I kicked cancer’s butt. When my friends complain about their bras and the inconveniences of having breasts, I rub it in that I no longer have to deal with that.

Many have excuses for not getting their mammograms. They don’t have the time, they are too scared, it’s an uncomfortable procedure, and so on. Your life is too important not to get a mammogram. Chances are if you catch cancer early enough, you can live a long prosperous life.

I’m proud of my journey to beat cancer and I love my body the way it is. My scars are my badges of honor. I’m a survivor who is thriving in the light of recovery.

ALL FEELINGS ARE VALID

Published on by Aimee EddyLeave a comment

We all experience life with different perceptions. We go through life’s struggles and each person’s journey is different. What may seem like a minor bad point in a person’s life may seem like a major one in another person’s life. Someone may feel sad about a situation, while another person may feel happy. No person on earth experiences life the same or feels the same emotions as another. Everyone’s feelings are valid even if we don’t feel the same or understand them.

Feelings are a tricky thing especially when it comes to mental illness. It is so hard to understand why a person with a good life could fall deep into sadness. It’s even more difficult to understand how a person could feel so hopeless and depressed that he or she would want to commit suicide.

A friend’s aunt came in my line at work. I told her that her nephew was really struggling with depression.

She looked at me and said, “What does he have to be depressed about?”

I was taken back by her response. It was like she couldn’t understand her nephew’s feelings of sadness. This happens a lot to people with mental illness. Many don’t understand those struggling and they shrug them off like their feelings are not important, when they are very important.

After my mastectomy I struggled with grief for the loss of my breasts. Many of my friends told me that I didn’t need them anyway and I should be happy they were gone. Some said they were envious of me and would love to get rid of theirs. I felt like they didn’t validate my feelings of grief and depression.  This made me feel even worse. It’s like my loss was a joke to them, and it wasn’t. I lost a part of my body, a part that made me a woman, and yes at times I wished I didn’t have them, but when it came to having them removed, it was like a piece of me was stolen from me. The hardest battle for me with breast cancer was dealing with my loss, and having friends who didn’t take my grief seriously made me feel even worse.

This has happened with my mental illness too. I had lived two years in recovery from mental illness. I had friends, I was living in an apartment with a friend, and I had a boyfriend. Then suddenly I fell down that hole of depression. I felt hopeless, depressed, useless, and worthless. Some people didn’t take my feelings seriously. It didn’t make sense to them that I would feel those emotions when it seemed like I had a good life. To them I had no reason to feel bad. This made me feel even more alone. The more my feelings were not taken seriously, the worse my depression got.

Years after I recovered from mental illness, I went to a friend’s house for a dinner. There was a group of us. They talked about a girl we all knew. The girl got upset and locked herself in the bathroom during a party. The girl told them her life was hopeless and she felt like she had nothing to live for. The group of girls who told me about it said that she was doing it for attention. They didn’t take her feelings seriously. They thought she was a joke when she was crying for help. To the girl her feelings were real and very overpowering. By locking herself in the bathroom and telling the group her feelings she was begging for help, and they didn’t listen. By not validating her feelings and noticing her call for help they made her feel more depressed, and she injured herself.

When I was in school there was a girl who kept talking about taking her life. I knew nothing about mental illness or that I was suffering with it. I thought she was telling us that for attention. She told me she was sad, and I thought she was a spoiled child craving attention. The teachers at my school never took her cries for help and feelings seriously either. She never got the help she needed because no one would listen to her or validate her feelings. I found out many years later she struggled with mental illness and was never able to get the proper help she needed. She has been living in an inner hell since she was a kid and it led to a very rough life.

     Everyone’s feelings are real and valid even if we don’t understand them or find a good reason for them. With mental illness the darkness, the feeling of hopelessness, the worthlessness, and inner anguish is very real. Not recognizing the person’s feelings and letting him or her know you acknowledge how they feel can be detrimental. It can lead a person deeper into his or her mental illness and can lead to suicide attempts or suicide.

When a person turns to you and tells you he or she is feeling depressed, that person is confiding in you and asking for help. Say you’re there for him or her, suggest he or she gets help, and listen to him or her. Don’t brush the person off or ask them, “What do you have to be depressed about?” Never assume the person is just trying to get attention. Don’t turn that person in to a joke you can talk about with your friends. Those feelings the person has been struggling with are very real, and if he or she is telling you about them then it is to ask you for help. Don’t ignore him or her. Validate his or her feelings.

Many years ago, when I confided in my mom my feelings, she went out of her way to get me help. Because people who care about me, friends, and family, validated my feelings, I got help and I dance in the light of recovery.

FACING A ROUGH TIME

Published on by Aimee Eddy4 Comments

Cancer has affected almost everyone’s life in some way or another, whether it be a friend, co-worker, family member, or your own journey. Cancer likes to rear its ugly head and leave a wound or scar on the soul. It’s hard to face going through your own cancer and then face it again with a loved one. When you have depression and anxiety, facing hardships like this can deepen your illness or send you down that dark hole again.

When my grandpa got prostate cancer many years ago, they said he’d die of natural causes before he’d die of cancer. The sad thing is the cancer spread throughout his body and he struggled to the end. I kept breaking down so much when I went to see him in the hospital that I couldn’t go see him anymore.

Then when I learned I had breast cancer, my thoughts went back to my grandpa and I thought I was also going to die a miserable death, but I didn’t. I’m still here, proud to be a survivor.

I prayed cancer would never affect our family again, but it has. After a week long vacation, my husband and I came home to the news that my dad has bone cancer. I put on a brave face on for my parents, but when I got home, I broke down. I cried in Lou’s arms. Then in the days after the announcement, I went from okay to falling apart. It became a matter of waiting to see when they would start chemo and the next steps. I didn’t have to go through chemo when I had cancer, but there was a lot of dreaded waiting. Waiting to find out if I had the BRCA gene, waiting to find out what was next, and wondering what was going to happen to me. All those memories returned with my dad. The old emotions and fears resurfaced.

My dad is a handy man and a mechanic. He can fix almost anything. He fixes cars, lawn mowers, and even private airplanes. He has fixed and still fixes many of my vehicles. He does repairs around his own home, has helped remodel his church and has done repairs in my home. If he’s sitting down too long, he thinks he’s being lazy. He gives from the bottom of his heart to his family, friends, and strangers. I don’t always agree on his views, but I love him endlessly. Hearing he has bone cancer sent a knife deep in my heart.

My father has always been a healthy, active man even at seventy-four. Nothing kept him down. His oncologist said his cancer wasn’t life threatening, but they said something similar about Grandpa’s. I can’t bear the thought of losing my dad from a miserable struggle with this horrible disease. This troubled me greatly. I don’t want to lose my dad. I cried more tears in Lou’s arms.

Then my dad had to take a class about his treatment and start shots and chemo. My younger sister came to town to go to appointments with them. I was relieved but I felt guilty. I stress every six months when I go to the cancer center for my checkups, but going there for my dad seemed even more frightening. I just couldn’t do it, but I felt it was my responsibility. My older sister is struggling with health problems, and as the second oldest I should be at my parents’ side while my dad goes through his treatments, but emotionally I can’t handle it.

I remember making the decision to have a double mastectomy and then a full hysterectomy. I cried about it and agonized over it. Then there was the news that I would have to wait six months to do reconstruction and it would take several surgeries for it. I decided not to do reconstruction, and I had to learn to love myself as a woman without breasts. I felt like I was getting one let down one after another. My whole life was changing, and I fell into a depression. Those feelings came back as my dad faced his treatments.

When my sister told me the details of my dad’s treatments, I realized my dad’s life would be forever changed. His food had to be washed before being prepared, masks in public, washing his hands frequently, being susceptible to illnesses, and chemo every day. I felt that anguish inside me like the anguish I felt when I had cancer.

Then as we came closer to the beginning of his treatments, I began to worry obsessively how chemo would affect him. Would he no longer be that active and strong man I always knew? Would he get very sick? Would he need lots of extra care? The worries flooded me, and I felt the sadness of depression taking control. My muscles were tense, my stomach twisted, and the tears came expectantly. I struggled to sleep or even focus on everyday things.

When he made it through his first shots and chemo pill without many problems, I sighed with relief. Now I worry about him catching an illness and ending up in the hospital. I worry about my dad having more side effects from the chemo pill the longer he takes it. The worries flood my mind and I feel like I’m losing control of my illness. I feel the pain of my emotions searing throughout my soul. The tears, the endless worries, and my chest tightening has me struggling to hold on to the edge of my hole. I feel like I’m losing control, and I will be at the bottom of that hole again.

I remind myself this is just a rough time, and I can get back to the top of the hole again. I lean on my support system, I journal my feelings, and I plan to work on some woodburning projects and my next book. I talked to my psychiatrist about my struggles with my depression during this rough time, and he upped my medicine.

Rough times are part of recovery from mental illness and part of the struggle with this sickness. The important part of dealing with rough times is using coping techniques, leaning on your support team, and asking for extra help from your therapist or psychiatrist. There will always be bad things happening in our lives, threatening to make the struggle with or recovery from mental illness rougher, but the most important thing is how you handle it. Don’t let it destroy you or throw you down that hole again. You can get through life’s heartaches and still work towards recovery or stay in recovery.

My dad’s journey has just begun and what is to come is unknown. Our hopes are that he will reach recovery. My struggles with this rough time will take a lot of work and coping, but I will soon stand in the light of recovery again.

CANCER, THE SKELETON HAUNTING ME

Published on by Aimee Eddy1 Comment

Many think once you have beat cancer, the fight is over, and you are home free. You can just go back to your life and continue on like nothing ever happened. But it doesn’t work that way. Cancer becomes like a skeleton hiding in your closet, and popping out just to scare the daylights out of you. It’s also hanging in your closet just to remind you of what you have been through and what cancer did to you. The skeleton just won’t let you forget; it’s always there pointing its boney finger at you, threatening to haunt you for life.

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The other day when I went to buy food on my break I mentioned to a fellow employee I no longer have to push up bra straps.

She looked at me and said, “Didn’t I tell you, you wouldn’t miss them? You kept saying you would get reconstruction and I told you boobs are good for nothing. Aren’t you happier without them?”

I told her, “Yes, it feels good not to have to wear a bra and I don’t miss them, but yet sometimes I do miss them.”

What I didn’t tell her is the scars on my chest are a constant reminder of the cancer I fought. Each day I look at myself topless, the skeleton of cancer stares at me and I can see its boney jaw moving, “Look what I did to you?” Each time I reach for a bra strap I no longer have, the skeleton says, “I won’t let you forget.”

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I don’t just have scars on my chest from this illness I have scars on my soul. I fear constantly something else happening to me, having to go through another surgery or another crisis. I started getting pain in my left foot. My mind whirled. I just went through cancer, I just had two surgeries within three months, I just had needles poked into my right breast, and now I have another problem. I can’t go through another surgery. I don’t want to spend another summer recovering from procedures. I can’t be poked by more needles. This can’t be happening to me.

My foot doctor diagnosed me with plantar fasciitis and tendonitis and sent me to physical therapy. I had surgery for plantar fasciitis a few years ago. There is no way I will go through another surgery. I’d rather suffer. So a-long with therapy, I am getting treatments from my chiropractor. I got a note from my doctor to sit in between customers and I am doing ice and stretches every day. I’ll do whatever it takes to avoid another surgery.

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When I saw the breast surgeon who did my mastectomy last month, he said, “Your chances of getting cancer again are very slim.”

The first thing that came to my mind was, “How do you know that?”

Yes, I had a mastectomy and a hysterectomy. Those body parts are gone and are no longer a risk, but there are other parts of my body. A co-worker a few years ago died of bone cancer. A friend at my writing group told of his friend who died of pancreatic cancer. A co-worker went through colon cancer. The BRCA gene puts me at high risk of skin cancer. I have many other body parts where cancer can pop its ugly head up. How can he confidentially say I have a slim chance of getting cancer again? How can I not be afraid cancer may invade another part of me? How do I stop the fear?

Types of Cancers
Types of Cancers

I live my life with cancer lurking in the closet of my mind and soul, but I can’t let it rule my life. Each time I look in the mirror at my chest I say, “Aimee, you are still beautiful. Cancer didn’t take that from you.”

My friend and fellow survivor, Jamie, messaged me, “You might open a real closet and talk back to the skeleton and give him the what for. Then laugh at it as that’s even more sticking it to him. When he raises his ugly head just tell him no.”

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She’s right. I have to face the skeleton of cancer and stand up to it. I have to fight back and not let it run my life. I have to look at those scars and say, “These scars are proof that even cancer can’t hold me down.” I am a survivor. I kicked cancer in the butt, and if it ever rears its head again, I will beat it again. Cancer, you can try to haunt me all you want, but I will always rise above you.

If you overcame cancer and are finding it hard to let the emotional scars and physical reminders go, tell yourself, “I won an awful battle and I will not let it haunt me.” The shadow of cancer or skeleton of cancer will try very hard to haunt you, but use all the strength in you to face it and tell it to go away. Life is short. Live life to the fullest. Enjoy each day you are a-live and be proud of the battle you won.

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The skeleton of cancer keeps trying to haunt me and hold me down. I’m doing what my friend told me to do. I’m laughing at it, I’m talking back to it, and I’m telling it no. Because I won’t let the memory, the scars, and the fears control me, I stand tall within the light of recovery.