Courtesy of Melanie Majors Mauck
When I turned 66 in May, I was relieved to receive Medicare and had a long list of routine appointments I wanted to plow through. When a yearly mammogram showed something suspicious and turned out to be breast cancer, my world was instantly changed.
I heard the news over the phone on my way home from the city, sitting between strangers on the train to Saratoga.
The news startled me. I'd talked myself into thinking it was a "false positive" — even though we'd lost many members of the family to the disease.
Thus began a six-month calendar of a lumpectomy, surgery, recovery, and four weeks of radiation — five days a week, while working full-time as a front office manager at a private school.
The emotional toll of cancer hit me hard; there were so many unknowns now. I was planning on retiring, but that suddenly didn't seem plausible anymore.
Would I make it? Did I have a future? How could I afford to pay the medical bills that were undoubtedly coming? Would I ever be able to retire and concentrate on my travel writing dreams? These thoughts and fears were exhausting.
Before cancer, people always said I was a positive gal, that I saw the world with rose-colored glasses, that my cup was forever half-full, and that I believed there was something to be grateful for every day.
At every doctor's office visit, I had to fill out paperwork asking about my mood, living situation, whether I felt safe at home, whether I had difficulty sleeping, and whether worry interfered with my everyday life. I found myself answering "yes" to many of the questions. But I always wrote the word "situational" next to them.
My doctors agreed that situational stress is brought on by temporary situations where worry and concerns begin to overwhelm a person. Yup, that would be me.
I read articles about how I was feeling, how situational stress can affect people, and strategies I could implement to help me deal with it. I asked for a referral to see a therapist. Maybe it would help to have someone to talk to while dealing with so many staggering concerns.
At our first meeting, I listed what was bothering me. It was hard to talk; I was so emotional. She asked some questions and was patient while I tried to speak through my tears. I expressed anger, fear, and sadness about where I'd been plopped at this stage of life. I had planned for retirement, but that goal no longer felt within my grasp.
I told her I didn't choose this diagnosis, that I can't escape the reality of knowing I'm a cancer survivor, and that there will always be a "before" and "after" cancer going forward.
"I guess having no control over my life right now bothers me the most," I told the therapist.
She explained how regaining control in life — even in small ways — can help alleviate some of the emotions I'm experiencing right now. That helped.
Tackling one thing at a time, I filled out paperwork with another social worker, requesting financial help for the mounting bills and a prescription I needed. Thankfully, I qualified, and that colossal worry was alleviated.
I signed up for a cancer survivor's day retreat 30 miles away, even though it will take place on a school day this September. I let the administration know it's an event I won't miss, that it is vital for my healing, and that I'll find someone to cover my desk. Everyone at work has been so understanding through this process, which I appreciate.
Radiation is over now, and my days revolve around follow-up appointments. Even though I'm unsure of the future, I'm working hard to become healthy and strong again.
I try to remind myself that this is temporary, and I will figure out how to retire. I will not give up on my retirement dreams.
