The Pink Patient In The Room - Part 1

The Pink Patient In The Room

Intro

There was COVID, and then there was getting diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer during COVID.

This is a journey into my experiences, realizations, research, and regimen since (as well as long before) my cancer diagnosis - the things that have worked and the things that… well, have worked not-so-much. 

It’s also going to be a journey into the past - far far back, because cancer doesn’t just suddenly strike. It creeps up long before noticeable symptoms or even detectable levels, and in my case, there were (and continue to be) a myriad of events that most likely contributed. From a toddler getting into grandma’s candy-like blood pressure medication and going into shock, to a little girl playing in the Tschernobyl fall-out rain, to a crook dentist drilling out all of her (at the time healthy) molars and haphazardly placing amalgams, to simply growing up in a dysfunctional family, as well as inheriting things you’d never think could be inherited. This same girl grew into a teenager with dyslexia and Ehler’s Danlos syndrome with their in some regards devastating and yet mostly “unseen” symptoms during a time and culture that was still ignorant to such differences, all the way to becoming a mom, raising and homeschooling two kids on the autism spectrum. By now, I’ve poured decades worth of research and “experimentation” with alternative therapies into seeing my family thrive. And while today, I find myself with breast cancer, I also am armed with a lifetime of experience to confront it with.

 

There’s a lot to say about the retro because it matters moving forward. And while some of this may sound extreme, or one may feel like “of course she’s got cancer after all that - that’s not at all what I’m going through,” it doesn’t take ALL of the above for things to go wrong. And some of the above you may be exposed to without realizing it. I know there are many people out there like me - I’ve met them. And sadly, some of them are no longer with us. None of them are getting real answers as to the origins of their conditions, only extremely targeted therapies that (maybe/hopefully) address only one aspect of something that is so much bigger than most of us realize, while in the process throwing gasoline on all the other symptoms that are highly likely expressions of the very thing you’re being treated for.

Toxins come in varying amounts and many forms - unannounced, disguised, and they typically don’t wait their turn but rather happen simultaneously, ultimately headed toward a common outcome. Chances are, there’ll be something worth your time in here (including the ins and outs and ups and downs of conventional therapies as well as alternative therapies) because lots can be done even when it may seem like you’ve reached the end of the rope. 

This blog will go into the backstories and experiences with the conditions themselves, as well as diagnoses, struggles and successes, therapies, studies, research, but also things like product and book reviews, as well as recipes and more. 

I hope you enjoy it, and hopefully, you find it useful.

Three Wise Monkeys And a Sick Pink Elephant

“See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil,” that’s how that saying goes. I will say that personally, I don’t really believe in “evil,” but I will also say there’s something rotten in the (metaphorical) “state of Denmark” or to be more blunt, our systems, whether they be political, educational, societal, pharmaceutical, etc… and there are many reasons for it. There is no single culprit, in fact, I think we are ALL contributing to it in some shape or form.

But let's back up a little, to that now already infamous period that was COVID, a time in my personal life where I had to come to terms with what I already knew was a fact - that painful lump in my chest was cancer and my life-long aversion to doctors and medical facilities was going to be put to an extra special test having to maneuver through this in the middle of an epidemic. The universe sure does work in mysterious ways! And I say this with pure gratitude in my heart. Without cancer deciding to “go turbo” in November 2020, I would have continued trying to deal with it on my own with the “partial” knowledge I had at the time, especially with the COVID mayhem going on, and I dread to think where I may be today. And funny enough, in my cancer journey, I’ve found answers to life long riddles concerning my health against all doctors, I mean odds! Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to the doctors that have been treating me, however not quite in the way one would expect. They’ve provided me with small but precious bursts of time. Time with my family, and time for me to get to the bottom as to what’s really going on in my body. The hurdle that was COVID is also something that opened my eyes to a number of things - I’ll get to that, too.

“My estimation is you have 2 years to live” is what the perfectly styled wide-eyed oncologist uttered through her mask after delivering my diagnosis - stage 4 lobular carcinoma. I remember being transfixed with the deep cobalt blue of her perfectly tailored designer dress and how her feet must ache at the end of the day having walked around in knee-high high heeled boots. “Where is her white doctor’s coat?” I wondered. Ron squeezed my hand in a wave of emotions teeter-tottering between shock and relief. Shock over the confirmation of his wife’s condition, and relief that apparently I wasn’t going to keel over within the next two weeks. When Death knocks, two years sounds like a blessing… and it is. It also goes by in a blink. We had walked into the cancer center expecting the worst, and while “the worst” didn’t come as some kind of immediate blow, things did get worse but not entirely how I had expected. What I do remember vividly was that while we were quietly waiting for the oncologist to enter, I couldn’t help but notice how gray and dull the walls were, how we weren’t sitting in the doctor’s office leaning into comfortable chairs provided to soften the imminent hard landing of reality. No. We were sitting in one of the many claustrophobic little examination rooms, on cold folding chairs, next to the examination table taking up most of the space. The point here is not that I’m spoiled, but that it hit me at that moment what kind of ride this was going to be. Hollywood shows you some of the tough ride that the disease and its typical treatment is, but that cushy office with lively plants and soothing painting behind the caring doctor handing you a box of tissues is not part of that reality. Maybe it is for some, but not for most. But it should be, right? It already sucks enough that you have cancer, but now you’re expected to march into this gray block that screams misery and death on a regular basis and expect to heal? You’re already paying for gray paint, would it really hurt to add a dash of color?! Little did I know at this time that what I expected differed drastically from what “they” expected. I would find out soon, and in some ways, on my own, as that was the only visit my husband was permitted to accompany me on because of COVID.

In some ways, I was fine doing it all by myself because in my mind “2 years” was not what I was going for and leaning on my husband throughout all the testing would have felt to me like I was already on my deathbed, even though I know he would have more than gladly been there. 

How THIS part of my life (officially) started…

Back in 2019 I suffered an accidental blow to the chest, and I mean BULL’S EYE! In a matter of days a welt developed. Now, I grew up a sports nut and competed in track and field and basketball for years. Elbows to the chest were not uncommon and typically it would resolve after a month or two. I had always dealt with fibrocystic breast tissue (something doctors will tell you is “normal” for some women. It’s not “normal” but we’ll get to that in another blog) and would bruise a lot easier than the other girls. So, here as well, I waited a few weeks to see if the welt would go away, but it didn’t. Since doctors aren’t my favorite people, I contacted a friend of the family who was a primary physician to schedule an appointment. I needed someone I could trust, not just because of the personal nature of my ailment, but also because I wanted to bring up and discuss the myriad of other symptoms I had been dealing with for years. I thought she would be that doctor. See, it’s not that I don’t ever go to the doctor. The problem had always been (with the exception of one dentist who removed my amalgam fillings) that no one would listen to my story, but I will cover that little monkey in a bit! My friend was happy to squeeze me in.

She listened, and while I quietly disagreed with her guesses as to what may be at the bottom of my symptoms and some of the tests she suggested, like blindly poking around in my belly to see SOMETHING, I was still excited that we may actually get to the bottom of that part of my health - teeth crumbling away despite daily brushing and flossing, horrible PMS that rivaled childbirth, chronic exhaustion, easy bruising, headaches, tremors in the hands to a degree where at times I couldn’t hold a spoon and eat, body aches day and night, insomnia, dry eye/mouth, hair fall… all, despite a lifelong effort to live a healthy lifestyle. 

By the end of the visit however, I had this sinking feeling that although she had listened, this would be like so many doctor visits before - the beginning of endless tests that apparently showed nothing abnormal, leaving me as the hypochondriac whiny trouble-patient. Some doctors will tell you to your face that it makes no sense what you’re feeling, maybe even get snippy or sarcastic with you, and then humor you with general painkillers. No solution, just doctor candy to shut you up. Like most other doctors I had seen before her, there seemed very little actual expertise but rather a lot of general knowledge Google had already provided me with. And after 3 weeks of complete lack of promised outreach and availability of the office to schedule any of the discussed tests including a mammogram for the welt, my doctor friend having seen no problem with the metabolic blood work even though most of my numbers were skirting the guardrails, just not flagged (yet - we’ll talk about that little monkey soon as well), and the welt by this time actually resolving, I gave up with this doctor. 

About 8 months later that “welt” decided to come back, and it had something to say! 

(to be continued… patreon.com/sabinebuchanan)