A New Beginning: Starting Over After Breast Cancer

Terrifying or Thrilling?

Leveled by Breast Cancer

I was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 57 on January 6, 2022. An oncology nurse gently informed me I was in for a one-year journey. She was correct.

In the whirlwind of this past year, I had a double boobectomy (bilateral mastectomy in medicalese). Then I had a port surgically place underneath my collarbone to prepare me for four rounds of chemotherapy, 3 weeks apart for 12 weeks.

Still in process is hormone blockers for the next 5–7 years. (I almost starting calling those my “bitch” pills but decided “badass” pills would be better. A body with no estrogen can can be cranky and achy.)

I am now cancer-free, but my life will never be the same.

The losses have felt unbearable at times, as the oceans of tears cried could testify. I resigned from a job I dearly enjoyed, closed my growing business, lost a shit ton of hair, and any sense of security. Oh, I also sold my home since the mobile home park I was living in was closing its doors.

But wait! There’s more! This was all on the heels of the end of my 32-year marriage. I was still reeling from the having my heart shattered by infidelity and ultimately, I filed for divorce. And then about 6 weeks later… the breast cancer diagnosis.

Now that treatment is over, I face the daunting task of starting over. I will rebuild my business-but will find a job in the meantime, rebuild my savings, and relaunch my life.

This is the part now where I’m supposed to exclaim, “I know I can do it! I’m a survivor!” while doing a victory lap, fisted hands held above my head. Hell, let’s throw in some streamers too. And because I quit drinking wine, I’ll include a toast with some hot cocoa-extra whipped cream on top.

Uh. Not so fast.

The Emotional Impact of Breast Cancer

One thing they don’t tell you about cancer treatment and its aftermath is the emotional impact. Oh, it’s mentioned here and there, but nothing prepared me for just how big this impact is. At least for me. Especially because I also have the task of processing the profound loss of a marriage I thought would last for a lifetime.

It was only reading another woman’s account of how the year following her treatment was so incredibly difficult. The daily obsessing over cancer. The depression. The anxiety brought on by every hiccup and twinge for fear the cancer has returned. Learning how to adjust to a new boobless body.

I wept reading her words. It got better, she said. I was solaced to know she is several years out from her diagnosis and is doing well.

It was very validating to me and the whirlwind of emotions and well, let’s not forget the side effects of the Badass pills either. (If you think PMS bitchiness was hard, try getting all the estrogen sucked out of your body.)

They don’t tell you that you will eagerly read to the end of any breast cancer survivor story to see if they are still living. They don’t tell you that your emotional bandwidth will shrink to nill and tears will flow at the slightest trigger.

In seconds, you will compare your tumor pathology with another woman’s. It’s similar to the bullshit comparisons I used to do with other homeschool moms back in my homeschool mom days: Oh, you use Math-You-See curriculum? Classical or tradition approach?

Only now you’re comfortable with flinging out cancer terminology like you’re discussing a burrito grab bag from the Taco Bell drive-thru.

Oh, let’s see, I’ve got stage 1A, hold the HER2, and dammit, looks like they added a Luminol B to my order. That aggressive little bastard.

And they didn’t even add some cinnamony churros.

Fuck you, cancer. And while I’m at it, Fuck you too, Taco Bell because it just feels good to say it.

What’s in your bag, dear sister? Bloody hell, triple negative for you?

Oh yes, I was going to talk about new beginnings…

What Does Starting Over Look Like?

Now that you’ve gotten a peek into the emotional landscape, here’s what’s happening in my outer world.

First, I have a wonderful partner, Tom. He was an old friend from high school and we reconnected in the most surprising and unexpected of ways. His support through this nightmare is a huge reason I’m not in a rubber room somewhere.

Next-I have a new home! I was despairing over the inflated prices for mobile homes from the 70s. Not to mention corporately owned mobile home parks that keep tightening the screws, $1,000 lot rent (and more is not uncommon). Oh, excuse me, they call it a “land lease.”

Doing my Craigslist Ninja maneuvers, I snagged an older park model WITH a car for under 12K. The car bit is important because I also sold my Prius. (And I prefer to file that decision under the “What the hell was I thinking?” tab.) I found the unicorn I was hoping for, even if it is a very small unicorn. (Think-a wee bit larger than a fifth wheel trailer.)

So, wahoo. I have a place to land back in the Phoenix valley. (I’m presently in Michigan with my sweetie.) When I return in a few weeks, I will pound the pavement for work. I wasn’t planning on doing any more organizing work but that is the lowest hanging fruit right now. I’m damn good at it and it will get cash flow moving again while I build my coaching/spiritual direction practice.

It’s scary as hell. Or is it?

Because I’m a psychology junkie, I understand that fear and thrill trigger the same stress hormones.

Think surfing Lake Superior in November versus my god man, I think there is an axe murderer lurking behind the shower curtain.

Adrenaline, cortisol. Increased blood pressure, racing mind, all that good stuff.

The Next Big Challenge

Here is the next big challenge as I take my first steps out of the ashes. As I breathe and look at my whimpering bank balance. (Especially after the big purchase!) As I take stock of the things I must implement if I’m going to pull off this reinvention of self. (All in between dashing into the bathroom frequently because of those Badass pills.)

Will I look at this as terrifying or invigorating?

Will I withdraw into self-pity and curl into a little ball in the corner because, hellooooooo, this is SCARY.

Or will I acknowledge that yes, this IS scary. And yes, it feels daunting to start over at 58. But DAMN, woman, you ARE a Badass. You are all that and a bag of chips.

Yes, this is thrilling!

Yes! I no longer have tumors in my boobs and it is awesome not having to wear bras.

Yes! I have an amazing oncologist and team at Mayo clinic who are surveilling my health.

Yes, to my resourcefulness.

Yes, to Tom.

I will regard these things as exciting, not terrifying. Though I also may acknowledge the terror and crawl into the corner as needed.

But I don’t want to stay in that corner.

In the meantime, if you’re in the east Phoenix area and need a closet whipped into shape, call me. I am open for business.

Ladies, if you need someone to hold your hand through your life transition, be it a gray divorce, career change or, god forbid-breast cancer, I’m here.

If there’s one thing I have learned through this whole ordeal-we truly need one another through this thing called life.

Life is too short to live wrapped up in fear and what-ifs.

With whatever time I am left with, I want to live life as a thrilling adventure.

I hope you do too.

Thanks so much for reading. You can find me around the internet at www.theresawinn.com, on Facebook, LinkedIn and Instagram. If you’d like to support my writing in a small way, feel free to buy me a coffee.