The Beginning of My Cancer Journey -- Part 1

I was riding high in the 90s. I had recently run my state's 1996 Electoral College. I received awards for my work. I could practically cite every one of the 990+sections of Michigan election law, plus their court cases and AG rulings. I loved my work, and I worked hard. Few people could do what I did every day; administering the law and keeping democracy safe. My star was rising, despite a less than supportive boss, and a difficult work environment. I foolishly believed that, at 38, I could overcome anything.

 I lived and breathed the Michigan Election Code.

I hadn't met cancer yet. 

On my way to the office holiday party, I was adjusting my "party bra" when I felt something...it felt like a grape. Oh-oh. I called the doctor as soon as the office opened. In two weeks' time, I was at the surgeon, getting a biopsy. 

I would play poker with this surgeon: he couldn't keep the concern he had off his face. After the pathology came back "suspicious," I was under the knife in his office for the lumpectomy the next week. I watched him work in the mirrored light above me. It was Christmas Eve when I got my gift: the cancer diagnosis I dreaded. Intraductal carcinoma, stage 1, ER and PR+, HER negative.   

I had to go under for the lymphectomy (23, all negative.) Then it was a whirl: I had to teach my arm to reach, despite the adhesions, because radiation was coming soon. Radiation and CMF chemotherapy: that's what they prescribed. My funeral home director of an oncologist wanted me to have nine rounds.

Radiation went well, and the chemo was...fine. I knew I was in trouble at work, now that I was sick. I wanted to minimize the amount of time off work; I didn't want to be vulnerable. I missed less than a day of work throughout my treatment. I didn't lose my hair, though it got thin, and I remember feeling only a little bit tired. I was such a hero!

Yet the oncologist and I could not agree. I disliked his communication style, and I began to butt heads with him. I talked to my doctor, and she recommended another oncologist. She was wonderful!  She talked to me like an adult, and showed me why her plan made more sense for me: only six rounds of chemo; only one more to go.

My hair grew back, but I found myself in chemopause. I gained quite a bit of weight. Most importantly, I was a bit depressed, and very,very angry. I had little ability to suffer fools. I began to question my choices, my life.

The toxic environment in my office meant that the sharks were circling. My "friend" sabotaged my work. After I came back, I tried for a while. But one day, overwhelmed with the workload and with zero support, I simply walked out. I went on leave, but two weeks later, I launched my private sector career in technology, and I never looked back. 

Recovery took years and the after effects of chemo upended my life entirely. Yet, I went on to get a Master's degree magna cum laude, to launch an incredibly successful career, and to enjoy better health once again. 

I did encounter my second and third bouts with cancer a few years later: I developed both basal and squamous cell skin cancers. Each was excised, leaving me with scars that remind me every day that I need to care for my skin. For the next decade or so, I only sweated the mammograms. I had the illusion that I might be cancer-free.