I have never been so happy to fail a test.
My Ki-67 pathology results finally came back.
Approximately 4%.
FOUR.
For anyone who has not been following along with my ongoing cancer education—and really, why would you voluntarily enroll in this class?—Ki-67 measures how actively the tumor cells are dividing.
Higher is not better.
Cancer apparently operates under completely different academic standards.
I was hoping for an F.
And I got one.
Never have I wanted to stick a test result on the refrigerator more.
Combined with my Oncotype score of 19, the result gives us more evidence that my cancer was relatively slow-growing and strongly responsive to endocrine therapy rather than an aggressive, rapidly dividing tumor.
Good news.
Very good news.
I see Dr. Varghese again September 11th, when we will revisit the Kisqali decision. Based on my results, the additional reduction in recurrence risk would likely be fairly small, and unless she convinces me otherwise, I am leaning toward not adding it.
One medication relationship may be enough for me right now.
Especially since anastrozole and I are still getting acquainted.
Anastrozole—the estrogen blocker—is still a daily joy.
And by joy, I mean absolutely not a joy.
Vitamin E seems to be helping with the hot flashes, although apparently feeling as though I have a low-grade fever without actually being sick may simply be part of my sparkling personality for the next several years.
The brain fog continues too.
I recently bought a new jigsaw puzzle and informed Garrin that puzzles are now medically prescribed.
I don’t make the rules.
Dr. Varghese said I need to exercise my brain.
Therefore, sitting at a table assembling 1,000 tiny cardboard pieces is healthcare.
I assume snacks are medically necessary as well.
I am also going to try microdosing tirzepatide to see whether it helps with some of the joint discomfort and inflammation.
I am fortunate to already be at a healthy weight, so I won’t need to increase the dose over time.
Although let’s be honest…
Who has ever been terribly upset about losing an extra couple of pounds?
There is also some interesting early research being done around GLP-1 medications and breast cancer outcomes. It isn’t something I can count on as part of my cancer treatment, but if the medication helps my joints and has other metabolic benefits along the way, I’ll happily take the bonus.
For now, I’m hopeful.
Hope and medically prescribed puzzles.
Apparently, that’s where we are.
Meanwhile, my radiation skin has almost returned to normal.
There is still a little darkening under my arm, but it is dramatically better.
And my chest wall?
It actually looks better than it did before radiation.
I credit Stacey from Plastics and Dr. Chapman for recommending Bio-Oil. I noticed improvement within about three days, and it has earned a permanent spot in my routine.
This has led me to an important conclusion:
Plastic surgery offices should really branch out into anti-aging skincare.
Forget surgery.
Just tell me what you’re putting on scars.
Dr. Pittlekow also told me something I never expected—the scar on my radiated side may ultimately look better than the scar on my non-radiated side. Radiation is actually used in some situations to improve certain scars.
Who knew?
Cancer treatment continues to provide me with an impressive collection of completely useless cocktail-party trivia.
And there is another unexpected perk.
I no longer grow underarm hair on my left side.
That’s right.
Radiation gave me one permanently shaved armpit.
Would I recommend twenty-five radiation treatments as a hair-removal technique?
Absolutely not.
But since we’re here…
I’m counting the win.
And now for a much bigger milestone.
I have a reconstruction date!
I was offered Christmas week or New Year’s week.
Christmas is my favorite holiday, and I was not sacrificing it to surgery if I had another option.
So New Year’s it is.
Apparently, I will be ringing in 2027 with new foobs.
Some people celebrate with champagne and sequins.
I get silicone implants.
I know how to party.
The surgery means another round of recovery and six weeks of lifting restrictions, but this time there will be no drains and I should go home the same day.
Most importantly…
The expanders are finally being evicted.
They’ve overstayed their lease.
There is one small logistical issue.
My Christmas decorations.
Anyone who knows me knows Christmas decorating is not exactly a minimalist affair.
Since I won’t be allowed to lift everything and pack it away, there is a very real possibility that our house will remain decorated until February.
I’m choosing to call this extended holiday ambiance rather than poor planning.
If anyone questions the Christmas trees on Valentine’s Day, I’ll simply show them my doctor’s note.
Speaking of doing things that actually feel like life again…
I just returned from a girls’ weekend with family in Holland.
I put my feet in the sand at Lake Michigan for the first time this summer.
We shopped.
I read a book by the pool.
We ate good food.
Enjoyed a few refreshments.
And played Rummikub.
I hadn’t played in years, but it immediately brought me back to playing with my Grandma Anne and my mom when I was younger.
Another flashback.
This time, a happy one.
For a few days, the scenery wasn’t my house, a doctor’s office, a treatment room or a hospital parking lot.
It was water.
Sand.
Stores.
Restaurants.
A pool.
Normal life.
I hadn’t realized how much I needed that.
I came home and told Garrin we need to squeeze in a couple more day trips before Michigan decides summer is over and goes directly into winter.
We already have a fall Traverse City trip planned to see my mother-in-law.
And we’re planning vacations for next year.
More of them.
I’m putting things on the calendar that have absolutely nothing to do with cancer.
I’ve learned this lesson before.
When I was in my thirties, my dad had a brain aneurysm.
We almost lost him.
My dad and I have always been close, but before that happened, he was incredibly dedicated to his career. Work took up a lot of his time.
Nearly losing his life changed something in him.
Family moved higher on the list.
So did enjoying life.
I would erase the aneurysm from our story in a heartbeat if I could.
But I wouldn’t erase what we learned from it.
Because in the years since, we’ve spent more time together.
We’ve traveled.
We’ve created traditions.
We now take family vacations that give us stories we retell and memories that become flashbacks years later.
And now life has handed me my own reminder.
I hate the way it delivered the message.
I would happily return the package unopened.
But I hear it.
Life is happening now.
Not after the next appointment.
Not after reconstruction.
Not when the side effects improve.
Not when everything finally feels normal again.
Now.
So I’m going to plan the trips.
Put my feet in the sand.
Play Rummikub.
Work on medically prescribed puzzles.
Leave my Christmas trees up until February if necessary.
And celebrate a 4% test score like I just made the honor roll.
There are still miles ahead on this road.
But I don’t intend to spend all of them staring at the potholes.
There is far too much scenery I still want to see.
