Yesterday I received a diagnosis of invasive lobular cancer in my right breast. Suddenly a lot of disparate things about the last year fell into place and made sense. The odd pains in my breast, the fatigue that I just couldn't seem to shake, the lack of interest in food (even chocolate!), the slow and unplanned (but not unwelcome) loss of weight, weird blood test results that no one thought were particularly alarming except me, and the general sense of something being wrong or off.
There had been other things to blame: I have rheumatoid arthritis and we've been messing around trying different biologics this year. I have diabetes and chronic kidney disease, and severe asthma. I was sick twice for a month at a time, first with cold/bronchitis/asthma complications, and second time with Covid (my first time I think)/asthma complications. We lost our beloved dog Bob this year. We lost yet another elderly cat. My husband lost one of his two jobs and we had to rethink our family budget. Of course, there was always the bad stuff in the outer world to add to my sense of gloom: global warming, regional natural disasters, the total dumpster fire of American politics.
Having a diagnosis of cancer is actually a relief. I knew something was wrong, I just didn't know what and couldn't get anyone to figure it out with me, until now. So on Thanksgiving, I am actually grateful for my diagnosis. I am also enormously grateful for my loving husband, who stands by me through everything. Grateful for all the friends that I have around the country who care about what is happening to me, and the kind and helpful neighbors I have nearby, who are always ready to give a helping hand. Grateful that we have the resources and the health care to take care of my cancer.
