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Cancer Fatigue & Love Bombs from the Universe

by melselcho on Dec 7, 2022 category Uncategorized

“These looked sufficiently gorgeous and fierce” the card read. Bestill my heart with those words – sufficient, gorgous, fierce. They could have applied to any of the many many many gifts that have come my way, straggling in when I least expect and most need them. Some take physical form, others digital – a text, GIF or prayer. They arrive as if perfectly timed and orchestrated for what I need most in the moment. This was one of the love bombs of the universe last week, which landed in a very dark time for me.

Last week I cried and cried. A lot. And then I cried some more. I thought I might never stop, literally. I had fought so hard to get new anti-nausea meds, and they didn’t even take the edge off. I have never been so sick in my life. And I was tired of having cancer. (Join my pity party below)

Tired of being a burden.

Tired of the relentless nausea.

Tired of not being able to stand up for more than 15 minutes without almost passing out.

Tired of chemo brain fog and forgetting even the easiest things.

Tired of overthinking every ache in my body wondering if that’s the cancer spreading or dying.

Tired of having to draw in my eyebrows and sucking at it.

Tired of feeling like I’m not doing a good enough job at healing.

Tired of the heavyness of life and death sitting on my shoulders.

Tired of not being able to suck it up and push through.

Tired of being too depleted to even answer, let alone reciprocate the people showering me with love.

All my life I’ve been the giver, held it up as the noble end of the duo. ‘Tis better to give than receive, the saying goes. Receiving is fun – there is the awe and delight. Then it becomes more challenging for me, my instinct tells me now I owe something back. And the delight-sparker part of me wants to out-do the giver in the thank you so they know how much I appreciate their gift. The competitive part of me wants to be “the best” receiver. You can see where it might go badly from there.

With limited physical and energetic capacity, cancer has taught me to be more intentional in my receiving. I’m left wondering if it’s okay to just receive the gifts as they were intended and trust that my gratitude will find its way to the giver, even if the timing isn’t as immediate as I would like. I stop and think about you, the sender of these digital and physical love bombs. I feel some kind of cosmic connection and honor to hold space in your most precious places – the thoughts, prayers, creativity, time and dollars of your lives. I marvel at how well you “get me” and how perfectly timed and formed and worded your love arrives.

And when I thank you, I let the inadequacy of those words and my timing go.

Thank you. This receiving is more sufficiently gorgeous and fierce than I could ever have imagined.

P.S. You even inspired me to get this gift for myself. It’s next to my bed so I see it every morning and night. Proof cancer didn’t kill my sense of humor.

Rescuing the Wayward Tit: Technical Details of my Diagnosis

by melselcho on Oct 23, 2022 category Uncategorized

And so the journey begins …

You might cringe at the name we’ve given my condition, but it makes sense. I have a breast with cells growing out of control, they call that cancer. These cells have taken their “Girls Gone Wild” party to the lymph nodes in my armpit, clavicle and neck. They need to be rescued, reigned in or released.

Since Discovery Day on July 11th, I have had the opportunity to learn much more about them.

Diagnosis is Stage 3B Breast Cancer. T-4 L-3 M-0 (the docs are debating this – some say I am technically Stage 4, but I’m running with the generous spot given to me by MD Anderson in August)

Treatment is Chemo – two types. THP and then AC (8 cycles which began August 5 and expected through December 9)

Surgery – Radical double mastectomy (expected January)

Radiation – (expected sometime after all that)

Receptors – after many many many biopsies, it appears I have two distinct biologies/pathologies: One is HER2-positive and one is Triple Negative.

My treatment is through Piedmont Cancer Institute in Atlanta and MD Anderson in Houston. They are both incredibly awesome at what they do.

My Wayward Tit is just like me – rare and extra and aggressive AF.

Tumor, meet Mel Selcho

by melselcho on Oct 23, 2022 category Uncategorized

As Dr. D. inserted and removed the needle for the biopsy, I watched closely. There was what looked like white gooey stuff from where I could see.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Tissue,” he said, a little shocked I asked.

“Ooohhh! Is that the tumor?”

“Most people don’t want to see this part.”

“Oh I do. That tumor needs to take a goooood look at me. We’re meeting face to face now.”

Do you shriek or cry or hold your breath when you hear you have cancer?

by melselcho on Oct 23, 2022 category Uncategorized

It was July 11. I’d been having a little pain in my shoulder and breast, which was swelling. I’d had an exam the week before, and they’d ordered imaging, which was not available until August 12.

Dr. Google had me scared (it always says you have cancer), so that morning I advocated for myself with the medical assistant who suggested I go to urgent care. Minutes later, my amazing GYN Dr. S called and said it may be an infection that needed to be drained and made an appointment for me at 10am with the breast specialists.

Maybe it was feeling so empowered from finally being heard, but I felt so strong going to that appointment. I had no idea what was ahead of me. I went alone and expected to return to work by noon.

I knew there was trouble when the Nurse Practitioner doing the ultrasound said it didn’t look like infection. She went to get the doctor and it was only seconds it seemed before they came back. I have no memory of what I was thinking at the time.

I had never met Dr. D. He came in and said “I hear you’re pretty lumpy.” He then showed me healthy breast tissue (right side) and unhealthy breast tissue. He said “we will do a biopsy to confirm, but the only thing this could be is cancer.” And left to get the biopsy gear.

I remember wondering if I was supposed to cry or scream or call someone. I got off the table and went to my phone. It was a physical symbol of connection to me, even though I knew I wouldn’t call or text anyone right then (I expected the doc back shortly), having the phone in my hand seemed like I wouldn’t be so alone. I took it from my purse and immediately saw I had a new text. From a friend. Who had cancer years earlier. Who I usually talk to only in group chats. Who was on California time and thought she might be bugging me at work.

Checking in on me.

It felt like a giant cosmic hug. I got back on the table and put on the bravest face I could for what was next.

I still don’t know what someone is supposed to do when they tell you you have cancer. Should you get a Welcome Packet? Should they offer to call someone for you? I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so alone and scared.

Shattered is the best I can describe it.

The NP asked if I wanted water. I said I needed something stronger than that, and she laughed.

As I got dressed and stumbled around the room, I looked back at my bloody pink gown and the ultrasound machine, wondering if it had just killed me or saved me. Both and.