Surviving Scans While Surviving Breast Cancer

Felicia Mitchell is a survivor of stage 2b HER2-positive breast cancer diagnosed in 2010. Catch up on all of Felicia's blogs here!

I am not sure if it is because I added a scoop of caffeinated coffee to my two decaffeinated scoops or if I am trying to distract myself. Likely it is a combination of both. Plus, it is spring. Spring cleaning happens. As a breast cancer survivor facing a series of tests to explore an unexpected change in my body, I have never cleaned as much as I have these past few weeks.

Scanxiety, while something survivors experience, is not what has preoccupied me most. In fact, after one of the scans, I let go of some anxiety about whatever will unfold, ordinary or not, with the process of exploring what is up with this medical glitch. Bring the scans on! They will give me clarity of mind and let me (or doctors) fix anything that needs to be fixed, if something needs to be fixed, or just let what is happening go for the time being.

Life after cancer truly is a joy. To be realistic, though, it comes with some challenges to be mindful of side effects of treatment, potential side effects of treatment, potential metastases, new developments, etc. While I have gotten pretty good about taking some of the emotions of surviving cancer in stride, I am a mere mortal. As much as I try to be positive, I have my moments.

With the current situation, before I jumped into spring cleaning with the energy of a person bound and determined to leave no corner cluttered, I did what we tend to do these days. I turned to Internet searches, including exchanges with artificial intelligence, as if I could find a clue there before my scans let me know the truth. I fell deep into the “what if” water. It could be this? It could be that? It could be anything, good or bad or in between.

The second stage was to spend less time on Internet searches and more time feeling upbeat and positive. I said to myself, “Well, you have been given an extra 15 years. Imagine that! You have lived a good life.” While contemplating a worst-case scenario, which probably happens to people who have never had cancer too, I began to feel serene, as if I was getting the emotional reaction over with before knowing I needed to have one.

The third stage was to feel at peace with whatever might come, even if that meant a return to the cancer center that I had just graduated from. Knowing the cancer center from front to back, I knew I could manage anything else I would ever have to manage, if I had to. This would not be, as they say, my first rodeo. I would be an old hand at whatever came. If it came. And would it? Most probably not. Still, when we are waiting for scans to unfold and share the appropriate information, our minds can go anywhere, even there (and by “there,” I mean “the end”).

Fortunately, between scans, I have moved to my favorite stage, the one in which I clean obsessively. One day I sawed up a large branch that smashed a dog pen. The next day I figured out how to dismantle the pen, bolt by bolt, pole by pole, to cart it to the recycling bin (all by myself) the same afternoon. I looked around the house. What next? The sunroom came first. Now my study is neater than ever. I am also a little embarrassed to admit I organized a few family heirlooms to pass down.

Meanwhile, I wait for the next scan, the one that will assure me that all is well, or not, whatever comes. Knowing I am in good company with other survivors who understand makes it all easier.

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