Ticket to Ride
Another year to ride this rollercoaster of life. A mammogram that has come back all clear, Ned (no evidence of disease) is my ticket to stay on that ride for at least another year. Anything can happen outside of a cancer diagnosis of course – there is always the possibility of the car going off the rails or hitting a snag. A loop that might not loop and a rail that comes loose, stopping the car until it can be repaired. All great analogies and you get the point.
There is a sense of freedom and elation when you get that news. Because the possibility always exists that the next one or the one after that might have a different outcome. And it comes with the reminder that the ticket does have an expiry date because in order to ride for another year, you’ve got to have that mammogram. You can of course choose not to have it, to trust to the fates, but I need that reassurance. My breast cancer arrived without warning. It was tiny crystals, like bits of salt, all clustered together. Couldn’t be felt by hand, but a mammogram picked them out clearly and distinctly.
I used to suffer with survivors’ guilt. A woman in my circle and I were diagnosed with breast cancer almost the same week. Our pathologies were different. Hers was 1cm - less invasive, less aggressive and easily removed. If treatment was suggested, she did not have either chemotherapy or radiation and she had no hormone treatment after the surgery. Mine on the other hand was 2cms - a bit larger, good margins were taken during the lumpectomy, but I had one lymph node affected which required a second surgery for the lymph nodes to be removed and because mine was more aggressive I had chemotherapy, radiation and a year of Herceptin because the tumour was Her2+. I made it to the first 5-year milestone. The woman I knew did not. Her cancer spread and she lived just less than 5 years post diagnosis.
I’ve often wondered why I keep getting the ticket to ride that she did not. Our tumours were in different places in our bodies – mine on the side of breast, hers higher up closer to the collar bone and did that make a difference? Was it that we had different surgeons? Did she unbeknown to me refuse treatment when offered? I have no answers to those questions other than the wheel of life spins in a way that we do not have the ability to see.
This year I feel a particularly strong urge to make things happen. I say that every year, but this one feels different. In the early years of this part of my life journey having had breast cancer, I needed to be focused on others – on my children, on my obligations, on just getting from one point to another. I didn’t have the luxury or the time to enjoy the ride. I got on one of those rollercoaster cars towards the middle and held on for dear life – sometimes with eyes open, sometimes with eyes closed when it seemed the drop was going to be too quick, to steep.
Now, finally, almost 21 years on, I’m choosing the front car, belted in for safety, but my eyes are open wide, my arms are up in the air and I’ll be squealing and laughing with each loop, each climb up that track and feel the rush of joy and excitement with each plunge down. This year that ticket promises the opportunity for a wild ride. I can feel it.