Everything gets darker from here!

Cheerful thoughts on the solstice & a thrilling milestone

HAPPY SUMMER SOLSTICE!

Lest you think I have lost my marbles, I mark this day every year not because I am some new-agey crystal-aligner, but because as a Midwesterner with a not-small-proclivity toward despair in the darker months of the year, my body is programmed to notice when the days start to grow shorter again.¹

Thus I texted my spouse an Eeyore GIF this morning.

But guess what? Terrible things come to an end, too! Which brings me to point #2:

TOMORROW IS MY LAST IMMUNOTHERAPY INFUSION!!²

I have been getting infused for the past 13 months straight, lucky me, but tomorrow brings the (un)climactic finale of this particular part of Cancer Treatment “Fun.”™

Quick math interlude for those of you who like numbers (probably the same ones who don’t get depressed in winter, if my marriage bears any proof):

12 infusions of immunotherapy + targeted cancer drugs
+12 infusions of chemotherapy
+9 infusions of post-surgery immunotherapy
= 1 me SO SICK OF GETTING POKED & PRODDED but also thrilled to be

DONE.

My cancer clinic appears to be great at killing cancer but not at celebrating the death & demise thereof. So it has no bell to ring when you finish your last treatment. Shoutout to a friend who heard of this travesty & then produced her own giant cowbell for me to borrow (because we all need more). So you can picture me tomorrow, ringing a giant copper cowbell as I leave the University of Minnesota, possibly escorted by security.

BUT I WILL BE DONE.

At one point, a few weeks ago, I got sentimental about this milestone, of finally having active treatment in the rearview and moving into the “survivorship” phase.³ I ambitiously decided that I was going to write a lengthy Compassion Brigade thanking every person I could think of, for their specific, amazing, loving contribution to my health and well-being. The post would begin with instructions to cue up this song and then scroll to find your name on my list, because truly the prayer/meal/money/gift/book/good thoughts/hilarity you sent meant so much to me and my family, and I will never be able to thank you adequately but this is a start.

But then, as with 99% of my ambition, I quickly realized my enthusiasm far outpaces my energy these days. So yet again, for the time being, a big broad blanket THANK YOU, AMAZING HUMANS will have to suffice.⁴

I am quite serious when I say that I remember you by name and prayer more often than you could ever imagine, and consider you as powerful and potent a collaborator in my healing as all the drugs that have been pumped into my poor body, thanks to Merck.⁵ Someday I will still figure out how to thank you all/each, but until then, please play that Natalie Merchant track again and pretend I have a good-enough voice to have been a singer-songwriter which was always my not-so-secret dream anyway.⁶

What comes next?

Great question. Currently I’m avoiding all non-urgent medical appointments/procedures because my body has decided this is what it really wants. At some point this year or early next, I have to get my next reconstruction surgery at Mayo. But I don’t feel like giving up one second of a Minnesota summer to post-op recovery, so I’m punting till fall. I remain very glad to have gotten reconstruction, even though most women I know have gone flat, so I am grateful for medical choices as well as my personal decision that has made my body feel like me. Just a perkier me.

Now I get to enter the full stage known as Trying Not To Get Cancer Again, Ha Ha Good Luck! Weirdly this will not involve many scans because studies showed that regular scans did not catch recurrence of triple negative breast cancer any better than routine check-ups (with scans if any symptoms necessitate) or produce any better outcomes. Sooooo I will just get to hang out with my oncologist every three months for…a while, I forgot how long, and then every six months for…a while longer, I forgot that, too. Basically I will still go to the cancer clinic a lot, for labs and check-ups. But NO MORE INFUSIONS, SUCKERS!

Most days I feel very at peace with this, confident in how complete my treatment was, calm about my prognosis and the small chance of recurrence (<5% per my oncologist, since my cancer was completely gone before my mastectomy). But like any sentient human, I am periodically stricken with the cold freeze of fear that 1) my cancer is already back, because what else could that headache/twinge/tiredness/weird pain be; 2) it will come roaring back when I least expect it and kill me within weeks.

(Now you see why the Eeyore GIF was fitting.)

So I vacillate between mild extremes, but mostly continue to be astronomically delighted to be still spinning on this planet, smitten with my spouse and beloved children, and cared for exquisitely by so many of you. This body might be chemo-exhausted for years to come, and scarred like a battlefield forever, but it thrums with joy and gratitude to still be here, every single day.

(Even though the light starts shrinking toward winter again tomorrow.)

Normally I never share photos of my nearest & dearest, because I value people’s privacy. But this is one of my best friends on the planet & she happens to be wearing incognito shades in this Itasca pic, so I’ll allow it. Also she gave permission & looks great here, so necessary prerequisites were all met. Our collective future is so bright, she’s gotta wear shades.

Wait, there’s more

Realized I left a few threads hanging after my last update. So here’s a quick synopsis to tie things up today:

What happened with your weird blood counts?

We still don’t know! Some are starting to normalize, which is great news. Others are staying wonky, but my oncologist is less concerned because Other Stuff Is Moving In The Right Direction.

Translation: still in limbo, but limbo never actually existed theologically, so it’s ok.

And what about the ovarian cancer screening scare?

Again, TBD. Latest labs showed the high/scary number coming down. So all involved oncologists/surgeons were relieved. Levels are still not back to normal, so we’re monitoring and hoping it resolves soon.

So you still get to keep your ovaries?

For now! I’m hoping to make it to age 45-50 (well, obvs I’m hoping to live that long LOL but also hoping to keep the ol’ ovaries till then) because that would give me much better long-term…well, everything. A longer life, essentially. Removing ovaries pre-menopause takes a wallop on your heart, bones, brain, etc. So if mine can hang on, Sloopy for 2-7 more years, that would be swell. Otherwise if those screening numbers don’t go down, we might have to yank them earlier. Part of the “fun” monitoring of the next phase, so stay tuned.

What’s going to happen to the Compassion Brigade?

Oh friends. You ain’t seen nothing yet. I have something delightful in the works, but I can’t share for a bit. Stay tuned; that much I promise you.

(Besides, it’ll be a while till I’m out of these woods. Precisely 4 years, 5 months, and 10 days till I make it to 5 years cancer-free, but who’s counting.)

With much love & deep gratitude—

Laura

1. Genuine question/informal poll: do the majority of Midwesterners suffer (like moi) from S.A.D.? What constitutes the rest of you unicorns, that keeps you cheerful when the sun disappears for months at a time? Plz advise.

2. This news actually merits myriad exclamation points, like my mom texting anything, but an editor once told me to pretend every exclamation point cost me $50. How many would I really want to use? I’d easily spend $100 on this sentence.

3. Funny story: my cancer clinic is so great that they previously added the “Survivorship Appointment” to MyChart and then DELETED IT sans explanation, so you better believe I laughed hysterically the day I noticed the update. Like: whoops, sorry, our error; no survivorship for you.

4. You could consider this like a general absolution, but don’t come at me in the comments about the validity of general absolutions. I’m tired.

5. Shoutout to my son’s godfather who works for Merck: I imagine every cent of the bajillion dollars that my infusions cost going straight to your retirement fund.

6. Turns out the music video for Kind & Generous is truly circus bizarre. So maybe just listen with eyes closed and call it good/prayer.