So I’m still stable. Tumor markers are still at the 60 range. He’s happy that they haven’t started climbing yet. My white blood count is still low. He’s going to hold off doing anther CT until the fall unless my numbers change or I feel like the cancer is creeping again. Another month of Ibrance and Letrozole, here we go!
I know that I get stressed a day or two before I see him. I thought it was flashbacks being in the same room that I had chemo but today I realized that my monthly appointment with him will always be “D Day” for me. I know that at one of these appointments I’m going to hear that these meds aren’t working the way they are supposed to anymore. I struggle with the “fight or flight” instinct and most appointments I have to force myself to go. Although I know this is terminal, there’s always going to be a piece of me that doesn’t want to believe it.

So I got a message from the office of my GP a couple of weeks ago reminding me that it’s time for my yearly checkup. Really? Why? What can he find wrong with me that trumps terminal cancer? A bad heart? Diabetes? No wait! Maybe more cancer? Ha!
I called there today because I do need to see him for a refill for my Crestor. I told his receptionist that I won’t be getting the physical, that it’s kinda pointless.

It’s one thing to be told that there’s no cure for what I have and the plan is to try and prolong my life. It’s another to read “Terminal cancer. Treatment for palliative intent.” Kinda puts a different spin on the whole thing. I’v been plodding along for the last 7 months knowing that this thing is going to kill me eventually. Hearing it in my mind hundreds of times a day. For some reason reading it in black and white shocked me. And really scared me. I plod along every day now wondering if I just had my last birthday. Will this be my last Christmas? What is going to be my last milestone?
This is most definitely a very personal “ailment”. I’ve been lucky enough to meet people (on Facebook of all places) that are in the same situation as I am and it really helps to be able to talk to someone who just gets it. Everything from the morbid thoughts to the heavily laced sarcasm. And I don’t feel guilty talking to them about it or ranting about it.

I’ve learned so many different acronyms and short-hand terms around metastatic breast cancer since this all started. It’s almost like you have to have it to know what these mean. These are the ones I remember:
METS-metastatic cancer
MBC-metastatic breast cancer
NED-no evidence of disease
onc-oncologist
dx-diagnosed or diagnosis
I never thought I’d have to learn a whole new language if I ended up with terminal cancer. I never thought I’d end up with terminal cancer.