A few weeks ago, I was hiking in the sunshine, loving the spring weather, and feeling great, physically and mentally.
This week, I went back to work. I took care of a breast cancer patient, who but for her hair and eye color, could have been me. In the moment, I did what I always do as a doctor. I took care of the patient.
But I looked in that bed and saw what could be my future in 5, 10, 15 years or less - and when I got home, it broke me. It slapped me in the face with what might be - thoughts I’ve worked so very hard to push away.
Thoughts I’ve consciously replaced with: It won’t come back. It won’t be me. I’ll outlive my cancer’s ability to regrow, and I’ll have a normal life expectancy.
It took weeks of mental work to focus on those positive thoughts, rather than the terrifying alternatives. And last night, it was all undone. I feel like I’m back to where I was January 27, when I heard the words “It is cancer.”
I love my job, and I am so happy to be back amongst my night crew - for the most part, it is a welcome and happy distraction for my mind.
Not seeing myself in every breast cancer patient will remain my challenge. Not letting my mind’s recovery be derailed by what might be will require strength I’m not sure I have. Maybe it will get easier each time - or maybe it will get all the more real, and even scarier.
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