Elephants and Tea - December 2021 - 13

REMISSION Grieving Yourself
the second I was told, " You have cancer. " Thus far, I had
been told things like, " The mass is no longer palpable by
hand, " or there is " no evidence of malignancy " from scans
and reports. But, there is no comparison to those three
sweet words that make up the acronym " cPR. " I had six
rounds of six hours, every 21 days, hooked up to cords,
slowly dripping poison into my bloodstream and always
returning 24 hours later, for my bone-pain and WBC
boosting injection. Although daunting, it was almost
refreshingly organized. Every living cell of my being was
attacked, leaving me fatigued and incessantly nauseated.
The incorrigible diarrhea; the vomiting on myself, because
I was too sore to get up fast enough; missing all of
my last baby's firsts; the extreme precaution surrounding
the global pandemic, leading to my complete isolation...
I'd slogged through hell and back, and I needed to know
that it wasn't all for nothing.
So, when those words were actually spoken loud and
true by my oncologist, I shocked myself with my own indifferent
numbness. I thought this moment would bring
joy - 'A light at the end of the tunnel,' if you dig clichés. I
had pictured myself looking waify-thin, with a short pixie
'do, resembling my own version of an Asian and Native
American Michelle Williams-type. I thought I would be
overwhelmed with feelings of gratefulness, euphoria, and
strength. Especially after having gone through all that
I had endured over the months of neoadjuvant TCHP
chemotherapy. Unfortunately, none of that came to be.
Instead, I more closely resembled Uncle Fester from The
Addams Family: bald, pale, bloated, with slumped shoulders,
sunken eyes, and zero elation.
My sore and squinted eyes scanned the doctor's face as
I sat on the cold examination table. I stared into his deep,
kind eyes waiting for him to say, " ...buuuuut, [insert terrible
news], " and yet, he didn't. He just stared back at me and
gently repeated, " Kimber. The chemotherapy has worked.
The cancer is not detectable in your body. Yes, you will
still need radiation, because of the severity of your case
and type of cancer, but you, my dear... " Then, reading my
mind as she always has, my tearful-eyed Bubs gently interrupted
him and reiterated, " KIKA! Did you hear him?!
He said, 'It's gone!' IT'S GONE! " I slowly nodded, trying
not to blink and expel the venomous secretions known
as chemo tears. Internally, I screamed at myself for not
feeling more thankful, more relief, more anything. I just
half-smiled and hung my head down, and the toxic tears
began to pour.
When we returned to my house afterwards, I couldn't
help but obsessively wonder: how can they really know
it's all gone? Even though chemo and targeted hormone
therapy worked and obliterated the massive 13cm x 7cm
x 7cm tumor in my left breast, I was still skeptical. Even
though my operation removed all of my breast tissue with
clear margins, I still questioned everything. My inquisitive
nature was nothing new. My husband would call it,
" being negative, " but he's wrong. It's my way of reaching
for control in a completely chaotic environment. It's me
staying up late and researching different terms and numbers
found in the notes sections of my MyChart. It's me
preparing myself with knowledge, one of the few defenses
I have control over. It's me being thorough and skeptical,
and rightfully so. Pre-diagnosis, I was considered " so
young, " and because of that, I know what it's like to have
to press a bit harder to advocate for myself. I knew that half
of my breast turning rock hard within three weeks was not
mastitis, nor did it have anything to do with pregnancy.
Sure, I've always been the double-checker, awaiting the
impending doom, proactively prepared with knowledge,
no matter the situation. But this wasn't that. This was me,
after all...not only was I still having to trust others with
my life, but also having to trust them with the lives of
three small kids' Mommy, and the Wifey to my partner
and lover of 23 years. I had just heard the best news possible,
considering my situation, so, why was I searching
for flaws or holes that urged further exploration? Why
was my eternal mechanism - the auto-questioning of everything,
which inevitably led to late nights of excessive
and knowingly unhealthy Google searching - starting to
kick in when the news was so good? How had I become so
cynical and distrusting? Because even though my body
had risen to the occasion and fought the Evil off, I was
still livid that my body had defied me in the first place!
Enter: Living with NED.
NED is a wonderful 'friend,' but, let's be real, NED can
also be a total dick. I have found that NED, or No Evidence
of Disease, as it's known in the medical field, can be a gift
and a curse. My first encounter with my newfound friend
on the day of The Appointment was the big tell as far as
what was to come, and what I've been trying to accept as
my current reality.
I now find myself stuck in that 'in-between' space. Most
of my cheerleaders have moved on and the volunteer Meal
Trains have ceased. There are no more t-shirt drives or
fundraisers. That's because NED embellishes the truth and
tells everyone that I am all good now, when in actuality,
this current phase of non-treatment feels more mentally
daunting than the beginning of this hell. My hair has come
back a bit, and my skin is on the mend. I am no longer in
" active treatment, " although I still am on a chemotherapy
pill for the next five to ten years of my life. People show
up less, because of the illusion that I am back in the pink.
But no one knows that I must consume a handful of pills
for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, in order to maintain that
deception. I have to smoke my other " medicine " in order
to induce an appetite, since my brain now struggles with
sending hunger cues. I have PTSD, depression, and anxiety,
among many more mental and physical long-term side effects
from my treatments. There are days when I just enjoy
sitting in silence in my lonely recovery office, known as the
couch in my bedroom, under the big window. It allows my
ELEPHANTSANDTEA.COM
DECEMBER 2021
13
NED is a
wonderful
'friend,' but,
let's be real,
NED can
also be a total
dick. I have
found that
NED, or " No
Evidence of
Disease, " as
it's known in
the medical
field, can be
a gift and a
curse.
http://www.ELEPHANTSANDTEA.COM
Elephants and Tea - December 2021

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Elephants and Tea - December 2021
