Hi

It will be a year in May, and feel like I am getting back to normal.

Hi.

I am just 1 yr from my total mastectomy and hysterectomy (reconstruction 12/11) and I am TRYING to be some what normal. It's been hard because everytime you turn around, you have some kind of appt. Right now I am going through physical therapy and for the 1st time in a while, I only have 1 appt this week.

Although all my drs are great, I have to say that my PCP is working very hard with me on my anxiety and is EXTREMELY patient. I have decided that it's in MY control and I am trying very hard to wake up with a SMILE and keep a positive attitude (hmmm, TRYING is a good word), but if I fail to day, I'll start again tomorrow!!!!!

Thoughts and prayers to EVERYONE!!!!! 

barbie- I think most research shows it takes about 2 years from DX to some feelings of normalcy return.  We're all a little like Humpty Dumpty trying to put the pieces back together again- physically, mentally and emotionally.  I think you'll find you have good days and bad days.  Hopefully, though, you'll see progress as the good days outnumber the bad.  I post on a thread called "Great saying about depression".  Most of us are done with treatment and are now just trying to figure out our new normals.  We welcome you to come and share with us.

http://community.breastcancer.org/forum/102/topic/759882?page=1 

Just wanted to say, too, that your feelings are very normal- not just for BC patients but for all cancer patients.  Your life has been forever changed and how can you not be affected by that?  I found this article one about depression after cancer that seems to help and thought I'd share it with you, too

After Cancer, Ambushed by Depression

By Dana Jennings

I’m depressed.

I’m recovering well from an aggressive case of prostate cancer.  I haven’t had any treatment in months, and all of my physical signposts of health are pointing in the right direction.

Still, I’m depressed.

And I’ve been ambushed by it.  After more than one year of diagnosis, treatment and waiting.  It’s almost as if, finally and unexpectedly, my psyche heaved a sigh and gave itself permission to implode.

I’m not alone in this cancer-caused depression.  As many as 25 percent of cancer patients develop depression, according to the American Cancer Society.  That’s contrasted with about 7 percent of the general population.

This isn’t about sadness or melancholy.  It’s more profound than that.  Broadly, I have a keen sense of being oppressed, as if I were trapped, wrapped up in some thick fog coming off the North Atlantic.

To be more specific, I’m exhausted, unfocused and tap my left foot a lot in agitation.  I don’t much want to go anywhere- especially anyplace that’s crowded- and some days I can’t even bear the thought of picking up the phone or changing a light bulb.  All of this is often topped off by an aspirin-proof headache.

The fatigue frustrates me the most.  When I envision myself it’s as a body of motion, walking or running, not floundering in bed.  On one recent day, I slept till 10 in the morning- getting 11 hours of sleep- then took a nap from noon to 2.  And I was still tired.

I’ve had occasional depression over the years, but nothing as dogged as this.  When I first learned that I had prostate cancer, I wondered about depression.  But after the shock of the diagnosis wore off, I was sharp and clear-headed.  I wasn’t depressed as I went through treatment- surgery, radiation and hormone therapy.  I was buoyed by a kind of illness-induced adrenaline.

The bone-smoldering fatigue arrived in late spring/early summer, and intensified as summer deepened.  I thought that I might be depressed, but resisted the diagnosis, didn’t want to countenance the idea that I could be depressed after all of my treatment.

I stubbornly chalked up the fatigue to the lingering aftereffects of radiation and my fluctuating levels of testosterone.  But I was wrong.

I am seeing a psychiatrist who specialized in cancer patients, and have started a course in medication.  My doctor assures me that depression isn’t unusual among those who are on the far side of treatment.

Partly, I think, I’m grieving for the person I was before I learned I had cancer.  Mortality is no longer abstract, and a certain innocence has been lost.

And while the physical trauma is past, the stress lingers and brings with it days washed in fine shades of gray.  In the same way that radiation has a half-life, stress does to.  We all ache to be the heroes of our own tales, right?  Well, I’m not feeling too heroic these days.

Cancer pushes a lot of difficult buttons.  It lays bare our basic vulnerability and underlines the uncertainty of this life.  And prostate cancer attacks our culture’s ideal of manhood.  The steely eyed Marlboro Man isn’t expected to worry about incontinence and erectile dysfunction.

Cancer feels bleaker than other diseases.  Even though my health keeps improving, and there’s a good chance that I’m cancer free, I still feel stalked, as if the cancer were perched on my shoulder like some unrepentant imp.

It’s harder to write about the weight of depression than it is to write about prostate cancer and its physical indignities.  Cancer is clear biological bad luck.  But depression, no matter how much we know about it, makes part of me feel as if it’s somehow my fault, and that I’m guilty of something I can’t quite articulate.

This has been a difficult post to write because during my dark waltz with cancer I’ve depended on my natural optimism and my sense of humor to help see me through.  But depression blunts those traits.

In the end, though, I believe and trust in the healing power of the stories that we tell each other.  And I wouldn’t be truthful to you or myself if I ignored the fact that I’m depressed- even as I wait for a brisk wind out of the North to blow this fog of mine away. 

Kate, Thank you for posting Dana Jennings article again.  It helps so much to know that we are not alone with our depression. I know I should be happy because my active treatment is over and everything looks good for my NED future, but I cannot shake my depression.  I see a therapist and I have joined a cancer support group, but the people on this forum seem to be the only ones who really understand.  Thanks for being here, everyone.

My BMX was Dec. 1st, and I still feel in a fog, not right, off-kilter. Keep wanting to say, "I feel like something's missing," (no pun intended, but it is kind of funny). I walk a lot, and feel better afterwards, but still have a lingering mild to moderate angst almost all the time. I feel particularly sad when I put on my foobs in the morning, and realize I'll be doing that for the rest of my life. And is it my imagination, or is my stomach growing? I feel up, down, and sideways, all at once.

Someone asked me the other day, "So is everything back to normal?" I couldn't believe he asked me that. What is normal anymore?  

Barbie I'm not much help, but I always have somekind of opinion. Personally I don't think there is any time imit. Some people seem to feel better hysically and mentally in a short eriod of time depending on what the treatment is. That (IMHO) means alot.But still no answer. Sometimes the word cancer itself send people in a tailspin--it's so scary to all of us.-Then add chemo, rads, meds-xtra IV's, extra shots going every week for whatever long it takes- (mine was almost 3 yrs) So feeling the same I still don't know--i'm older and it seems like just a short time ago I was working and doing so much--Now I just do whatever I can do and I'm happy to see a lot of my family. I'm not trying to bring u or anyone down really--but everyone of us is so different and who knew that there were so so many kinds of breast cancers??? I have to say I didn't experience depression for some reason, but aches and pains etc they're with me. LOL So good and bad I just accept and it certainly doesn't mean it will be that way for u---it's just how ot goes. Good Luck