u/GittaFirstOfHerName

I teach writing and literature, but writing mostly. I adopted a very liberal late-work policy during COVID and have updated it with safeguards against abuse, like hard deadlines by certain points in the semester so that students can't submit work that's too far behind or just do all the work in the last couple of weeks of the semester.

This one student, though, is breaking me. They submit something at 4:00 a.m. -- something that has an automatic roadblock built in, like a certain grade they need to get to proceed past a rough draft of an essay -- and message me at 9:00 a.m. to complain about not being able to progress (this is online) because "you haven't graded it yet!"

Today I snapped. Okay, so I snapped about as much as I am willing to do so and reminded them of when they submitted work, the time of day that I was answering them to give them the all-clear signal, and reminding them that they are one of over 100 students I'm teaching this semester.

For those of you itching to tell me to ditch the late-work policy, kindly remember that some institutions support proffies better than others and some are intent on being diploma mills and punish proffies for not adopting policies that support that disgusting mission.

Anyway, I'm thinking of creating a giant calendar counting down the years -- by the day and month -- to my retirement.

I (F, 61) am two years NED (++-, stage 1, rads no chemo). I had a rough time with anastrozole, so my medical oncologist took me off it late last year and now exemestane seems okay.

When I say anastrozole was rough, I mean that it wrecked me and some of the damage, I fear, is permanent. It made the arthritis I already had far worse and did terrible things to the rest of my joints, my ligaments, my muscles. My incontinence on anastrozole was constant. It's much better on exemestane, but it's still here. I fear that I'll never be rid of it.

My brain fog is gone, but I tire so easily. I exercise to try to counter it, and I'm working both cardio and weights, but it feels like a long, slow recovery from anastrozole -- and it probably is, honestly.

I have acne for the first time in my life. I put on a huge amount of weight on anastrozole that I'm finally beginning to lose. My hair is thinning (except for that on my face -- ha ha! fun trick!) and I look a lot older than I did pre-anastrozole.

I hurt every day. Every day. I manage my hot flashes, but they still come.

All of that is not what bothers me. I mean, it does, but that's just a preface.

My once-upon-a-time BFF asks me how I am, and I ask her, "Do you really want to know?" and when she says she does, I give her the abridged version. She knows that I went through menopause a decade ago and that I was over it. I tell her that this is so much worse, that my last adjuvant drug did things to me that I fear will change me forever, that I'm not as mobile as I was, that I tire easily, etc.

Her response: "Oh, me too! It's menopause. I have hot flashes, too!"

That's what bothers me.

I don't want a cookie or a medal for having had cancer. I do want people who say that they care about me to acknowledge that I may be struggling because of cancer. It's not menopause. It's not merely getting older. Cancer did this to me and it's changed me as a person -- emotionally, mentally, as well as physically.

I realize that so many women here have had and do have it worse than I do. I am grateful every day that I'm here, that I'm NED, that I am recovering from what anastrozole did to me when I was on it for over a year.

I am grateful. I am also not the same.

And, no, this isn't "just menopause." I get nostalgic for just menopause.

And that's my rant.