Thursday, August 22, 2013

A Natural Ambition

Having cancer in your twenties presents issues that you may otherwise not face if diagnosed in your fifties or sixties. Issues include; worrying about student loans, being isolated from your peers, the loss of your womanhood in your prime (in my case, part of it was surgically removed) and the ever-looming (in)fertility.

I had six rounds of chemo and Tamoxifen has put me in a medically induced menopause. Ah, menopause at 27, 28, and now as of last Wednesday, 29. Yep, sure am living the dream these days. I still get my period and (because they just don't have the research about young women on Tamoxifen) they aren't exactly sure if that is a good thing or not - I've been told two opposing viewpoints by two different oncologists. At the start of each period, I have a sense of relief because for another month, I have managed to avoid permanent menopause at 29 years old.

With social media, I am bombarded with pictures of babies. When I see friends who post pictures of their 'positive pee stick' (yes people do that), or their growing bellies or their newborns, 1 year olds or the first day of school pictures, I feel lost.

Not one part of me is angry with friends or frustrated with them, shit if I had a baby, I'd be plastering those pictures on Facebook, Twitter, Tumbler, can you post pictures on LinkedIn?,;you get my drift. But, it seems that if my double mastectomied chest wasn't reminder enough that I may never have children, Facebook and Instagram are right there to reinforce it.
Although I know that being pregnant would not be the safest thing right now, I think about it all the time. In an alternate universe where I didn't have cancer, I would be pregnant with my second baby and in love with my first. But we don't live in an alternate universe and here's my reality; last month, after I was about four weeks post-op, I missed my period. That is my first missed period since chemo ended. On about day three of being late, the thought crossed my mind that I may be pregnant. I have an IUD in place but weirder things have happened. I'm not going to lie to you, day three to five was a bit of a mind-fuck (excuse the language but I have devoted a solid three minutes to coming up with a less abrasive, equally descriptive word to describe my feelings and I couldn't). I kept thinking 'I can't be pregnant, I'm on Tamoxifen, I have an IUD, I only have a 40% chance, there's no way' and the other part of me was cheering, 'I could be PREGNANT.'

On day six, I took a pregnancy test and although I knew better, I had hope (for some twisted, delusional reason). I stared at that test waiting for the second line to appear to signify pregnancy and although the test said results would appear in 90 seconds, I gave that second line at least seven minutes to appear. The second line never showed up but on day seven, my period did. It was late (I'm assuming from the anesthesia and myriad of prescription drugs that I was on after my second mastectomy only weeks before). I know that I can't get pregnant right now (not 'can't' like it's impossible but 'can't' like I'm still in treatment [Tamoxifen]) but that second line would have meant that pregnancy was possible.

I know women who have had babies after chemo, I have even met said babies. I know this isn't impossible and although I am not one for statistics, I had a less than 1% chance of getting breast cancer at 26 so a 40% chance of getting pregnant seems pretty high with my track record. So many friends are enjoying the happiness of parenthood while I'm waiting for my next surgery; being the one who has loved kids since I was six years old and being surrounded by so many people who seem to get pregnant by what seems to be just laughing too hard is heartbreaking.

So in true Katie fashion, in heartbreaking times, I like to torture myself with music that really drives the point home. You know when you hear a song and it’s like it was written for you? Look at these lyrics:
It felt like a given, something a woman’s born to do
A natural ambition to see a reflection of me and you
I'd feel so guilty, if that was a gift I couldn’t give
Could you be happy if life wasn’t how we pictured it?
And sometimes I just want to wait it out to prove everybody wrong
And I need your help to move on ‘cause you know it’s so hard, so hard.

Yep, lyrically, that about sums it up!

The thing about cancer is that it affects so many lives, regardless of whose body it’s harbouring. Keith has had so many choices made for him without ever being asked (and without ever complaining) but how do I not feel guilty for making him wait, for not knowing if I can give him the gift of life?

A few months ago, Keith and I were lying in bed and I asked him if he could picture his life without kids. The conversation went like this:
Katie ‘If I can’t give you children, will you still be happy?’
In true Keith fashion he said ‘It’s not a matter of you giving me children, we can either have children or we can’t.'

Keith and I have stuck with the idea that ‘if it’s meant to be then it’s meant to be'. I will be done Tamoxifen when I'm 32 and although that is not old when it comes to reproduction, chemo accelerates the aging of your ovaries and they could be 'as old as' 44 when I'm only 32.
On March 16th, 2011, my oncology surgeon told me that chemo would significantly lower my chances of having a baby so much that it was more likely that I wouldn't have children. I cried more that day than the five days prior when I found out I had aggressive stage two breast cancer.

I've talked with a few girlfriends about the way we used to see the world. When we were in high school we imagined graduating from university, getting a good job, marrying our prince charming, having a few kids and living the dream. Life was easy, dreams were attainable, the future was definite. Now, some of us have dealt with loss and pain and hurdles that have not only tripped us but have made it hard to get back up. I know that cancer has taught me lessons about life that many adults twice my age still haven't learned but I beg the greater powers at be not to teach me the lesson of being a childless woman.

And sometimes I just want to wait it out to prove everybody wrong
And I need your help to move on ‘cause you know it’s so hard, so hard.






10 comments:

  1. I am right there beside you my sweet friend. Thank you for sharing this! T xoxo

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    1. I have a feeling that I could write about wanting to open a giraffe zoo and you would be right here beside because you are always such a strong supporter. Thank you! I know you know.

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  2. Katie, cancer is a thieving bastard. It has taken enough from you already. I pray it doesn't take motherhood too. ~Kate (Kate Has Cancer)

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    1. Thanks Kate. I appreciate your words more than you know. Cancer IS a thieving bastard, I couldn't have said it better myself.

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  3. So here's my explanation, and I apologize in advance for the novel!!
    When I was diagnosed, our daughter was 2 yrs old and we'd been trying for a year to get pregnant to give her a sibling. After struggling with infertility/fertility treatments for a while, I then found the lump in my breast and subsequently became pregnant. The same day I was to have my lump biopsied, my doctors discovered I was having an ectopic pregnancy and I was rushed into surgery. I had my biopsy rescheduled for a few days later and then found out I had cancer. Needless to say it was a horrible few weeks. Then to be told that chemo would shock my ovaries, we'd have to wait 5 years on T, and no you can't do an egg retrieval to freeze your eggs. (My oncologist would not consent to it; too risky).
    After I finished all of my treatment, of course my brain (&heart) went back to the thought of having another baby. That was of course what started me finding my lump. So I started researching all of my options and started seeing an reproductive endocrinologist. He did a few fertility tests to measure my hormones & ovarian function. He was able to tell that my ovaries did indeed take a hit from chemo, but they were not NOT functioning, nor were they in the interfile/menopausal level. He concluded we should be able to try naturally if and when the time came.
    So then there's the whole Tamoxifen and timing issue. If I did wait the entire 5 years on Tamoxifen I'd only be 34 years old-- not that bad as far as childbearing age goes right? Well since my eggs have already aged from chemo, if I waited another five years then they'd be naturally aged as well. Two strikes. So after speaking to a TON of doctors, the "best" advice/plan we came up with was to take Tamoxifen for 2 years, come off of it, attempt naturally to get pregnant, and then resume Tamoxifen after I (hypothetically) deliver a baby. I'm also willing to take it for a total of 10 years, so I'd probably resume it for 8 more years.
    Anyways, that's my story! Sorry again for being so long-winded. There's no easy way around any of this. Oh and also my tumor, although it was ER/PR+, it was very small, less than 1cm. So stage 1. Which is another reason the doctors are more willing to let me come off the Tamoxifen early to try this. That and I'm completely stubborn and impatient. Our daughter is now 4 and we desperately want a sibling for her and do not want to wait until she's 8 to be able to try.

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    1. Anne, thank you so much for reaching out and for connecting. Although I wish no one else had to face this, I am always grateful when I find other young women facing the same challenges as me. I think you are the bravest of braves to stop Tamoxifen. I have thought about it, but I was stage II and it was aggressive - stopping Tamoxifen isn't a sound option for me. I would be interested to learn more about how you are going to navigate the breast cancer/pregnancy/Tamoxifen next step. Do you have a blog?

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  4. Katie, cancer sucks and it takes a lot away from you. Your health, peace of mind, etc. While I may not understand the urge for motherhood, I do understand how you feel a loss of control with your body and life decisions. It may be frustrating to wait, but your Tamoxifen treatment will be over before you know it. And you will then be better off being cancer-free and "safe" before TTC. I hope you do get a chance to become a mother someday no matter what road you take to get there.

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    1. I am hopeful that we will be parents one day and although cancer has made a lot of decisions for me, I hope we get to make this one.

      Thanks for the positivity and the comment!

      Katue

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  5. Katie, I was reading up on your journey and wanted to know if you would be able to answer a quick question about your blog. I was hoping you could email me back when you get the chance, thanks!

    Emily

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    1. Sure Emily. I just need your email address. Or you can DM me on twitter @lovlykatielumps. Thanks.

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