During isolation I’ve done a lot of things to pass the time. I have completed and sent to the finisher more needlepoint projects than I can count, learned to cook in an Instant Pot, watched videos, ordered supplies, and learned to re-cane an antique chair seat, reorganized my kitchen pantry a la The Home Edit, and went through stacks and stacks of “treasures” I’d saved for years in plastic tubs. I won’t say I’m a hoarder, but Madison did convince me I didn’t need to keep every single report card she, Allie and Noah ever received. The significance of some of these treasures was known only to me—the piece of paper with faded purple and red strips of construction paper glued randomly across it, Allie’s first ever art project from Mother’s Day Out, was as priceless to me as any Picasso. Other items were just, put simply, trash. As I went through the stacks of “stuff,” memories and feelings washed over me. Pictures from our honeymoon, the birth of our children, reminders of their tiny hands holding mine—all took me back to those precious times. This was not a task for the faint of heart or to be completed in a single afternoon!
I admit it—I like to collect things. Every time we go to Rosemary Beach I collect a bowl of shells. Not because I need any more shells, but because the little pile reminds me of when they were collected, time spent with family, long afternoons in the sunshine, and walks along the beach. I have a rock in my bedroom that I picked up on the beach in Pacific Palisades on Delphine’s first beach trip. Every time I see it I am taken back to that day and her tiny hand holding my finger. The piece of petrified wood on my fireplace mantel does the same thing—it reminds me of the cross-country trip with Gary and our visit to Petrified Forest National Park. Anniversaries and mementos can also remind us just how far we’ve come and the obstacles we’ve had to overcome to get there.
On Friday, November 13, 2020, at 12:52 pm I rang the bell at MD Anderson. I have the photos and a video to prove it! This means my cancer “treatment” is DONE, and instead of saying “I have cancer” I can now say “I HAD cancer.” After while, crocodile…gotta go buffalo…bye bye butterfly…out the door dinosaur…later gator. It is a good feeling knowing that I can now move past treatment and begin to focus all my energy on recovery. Ringing the bell was a tangible act to signify the end of a very long, very difficult journey. It was my “Ebenezer” (1 Samuel 7:12) and it was celebratory for sure. But as I celebrated among the clapping and cheering of nurses and MDA staff, there was also sadness that my family was unable to be there with me. Seeing their faces, hearing their cheers, feeling their hugs would have made the day so much more special.
The following week I had a prophylactic mastectomy on my right side. Although I knew the chances of me developing a new breast cancer in my right side were only slightly elevated, I didn’t want to take that chance. The odds hadn’t been in my favor in the past. The surgery went well. I will have one additional surgery sometime early next year and I should be done with reconstruction. My hope is it can be done before Sweet Pea’s birth in February, but we will see.
Triple Negative Breast Cancer, if it recurs, does so swiftly, usually within the first three years. After five years, the risk of recurrence for TNBC falls dramatically. My oncologist said that is one of the “blessings” of TNBC—you don’t really have to worry about it recurring 15 years down the road. It is a bit disconcerting, however, that there are no tests, scans, or other things they will do to try to “catch” any recurrence early. If a problem crops up—more headaches than usual, worsening cough, dizziness, or pain—they will investigate it and see if its back. TNBC usually metastasizes to the brain, lungs, or bone. My job over the next four years is to not think “I’m back” with every migraine, every headache, every ache and pain, every allergy attack.
February 4, 2021 will be my one year “cancer-versary”—four more to go until I can take a deep sigh of relief. I know I will not be able to completely put the fear away, but I am going to do my best to live each day with intention, with joy, looking forward to what is to come with the anticipation that it will be a gift and it will be good.
Saying this has been a crazy year for all of us, is quite the understatement. Everyone has experienced upheaval, anxiety, fear, and changed plans and circumstances. I don’t think there is a person on the planet that can say this year has turned out just like they wanted it to. In so many ways, up has become down and down has become up. What we thought of as “givens” at the end of 2019 turned to ashes in 2020. But even in the midst of the crazy, the chaos, and the confusion of having cancer in the midst of a pandemic, God has been with me every single step of the way: guiding, directing, comforting, providing.
At the beginning of this journey I recognized God’s “fingerprints” in the diagnosis of my cancer. I saw how His timing, His guidance, and His provision worked together to allow my cancer to be treated at MD Anderson, even in the midst of a global pandemic. Standard treatment would not have been successful for me. My tumors did not respond well, and actually grew, while I was on standard chemotherapy. My only hope for a cure was a clinical trial. And because of the timing of my diagnosis, my stating I wanted to participate in a clinical trial at my first oncologist appointment, and the timing of my signing the informed consent and initial testing for the trial before “Covid lockdown,” I was able to be treated at MD Anderson even though I lived in Louisiana. Each of these circumstances clearly bore the “fingerprints” of God.
I also know my treatment experience was not “usual” and I can only attribute that to God’s provision as well. At the very beginning, my oncologist and the clinical trial nurse both warned me I would miss a treatment or two due to my counts being low, infection, or other illness. Although the clinical trial phase of chemotherapy/immunotherapy was delayed a week waiting on insurance approval, I never missed a single scheduled treatment. Not a one. The clinical trial nurse said that never happens. Twenty infusions, each on schedule, even in the midst of a global pandemic, state lockdowns, Texas border closing, and not one but two, hurricanes. I also never experienced the debilitating nausea many people have with chemotherapy. My blood counts stayed relatively high and just below normal range. It wasn’t all a bed of roses by any means, but on the whole, I was still able to eat the foods I wanted, walk three miles most mornings, and feel pretty good. I even adjusted fairly quickly to the no hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes look. My avoidance of the worst side-effects, and my ability to tolerate those I did have, was a gift from God and an answer to my prayers.
Finding my cancer when and how I did, was also a gift straight from God. Not letting my “clear” mammogram dissuade me from the feeling something was wrong, and following up on that, meant my cancer was caught early. We didn’t know just how early until the pathology report from my surgery—six months later—showed that the cancer wasn’t in my lymph nodes and had never been in my lymph nodes. At my very first visit with the surgeon at MD Anderson he said “Cancer in your breast won’t kill you. It is when it leaves the breast that it causes problems.” Because my cancer was found early, and stopped from spreading by the clinical trial immunotherapy, it never left my breast. The fact it never got to my lymph nodes also meant I didn’t have to endure six weeks of radiation treatment. More importantly, it increased the odds of my long-term survival.
Cancer is, and will always be, a part of my life. It changed me. Not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually, mentally. I am not the same person I was before hearing the words “you have triple negative breast cancer.” The plans I had for my life, my future, the activities that gave my life meaning all seem a little more tenuous. The past year has seen God close some doors with a pretty firm slam, while opening others I hadn’t considered before. Family is even more important to me. For the first time since my parents died, I no longer feel like an orphan. My children and grandchildren have always been a priority, but now I want to hold onto them just a little tighter, just a little longer. Gary has been my biggest support, never leaving my side, keeping me focused on the goal, sending endless silly dog videos to keep my spirits up. Yes, I was alone for my infusions, appointments, scans, and surgeries, but most times, so was Gary. I may have been the one who had cancer, but my entire family suffered the consequences.
I really have no idea what comes next, what God has planned. I know whatever it is, it will be good and He will reveal it in His time. God really doesn’t “waste wounds” and I know just as he used my family’s experience with addiction to help others, He will use our experience with cancer to help those dealing with this disease.
As 2019 came to a close, I declared 2020 to be my year of JOY. The joy hasn’t always been apparent, but nevertheless, it was there when I looked for it. As my year of JOY draws to an end, I am declaring 2021 to be my year of GRATITUDE. Finding joy even in the worst of circumstances can only lead to gratitude for the gifts of grace and mercy showered on me. This year I found the joy, and the blessings, of having triple negative breast cancer, and I will be forever grateful to my family and friends who walked this journey with me, and to God for guiding me to the other side of this valley called cancer.
This will be my last email update as I’m going to get back to living life. I want to thank each and every one of you who have read my updates, prayed for me, sent me cards, texts and emails of encouragement, brought us meals, and remembered us during my treatment. You have all been used by God to keep me going.
Love,
Tanya
T.S.CONLAY 