Sisters in Cancer.......

11/25/12--Sunday--Day 43--T-minus 5--Someone Can Finally Relate.

Well I managed to let my mind completely escape from cancer for the last 96 hours as I surrounded myself in Thanksgiving and family. It was so nice having Brooklyn home and spending the weekend crashed in Preston's apartment. It was small but cozy and nice for the four of us to hang out for awhile. I don't know the last time we went to a movie together, plus, we decided to brave the mid-morning crowds of Black Friday together. Tonight Brooklyn flew back to Idaho. I know she hates not being able to be here for the surgery on Friday but life goes on and she has to return to college.

We went to the Cardinal game this afternoon (they lost of course). As it ended our holiday weekend, it also brought a stark reality back into focus as we stay one more night here in Mesa so we can go to my preop appointment tomorrow morning. See, a little over a month ago, we walked into the Cardinals stadium as they started their Breast Cancer Awareness campaign. Each year in October we enter the stadium and are handed pink ribbons to pin on our shirts, which we all do out of respect and support. The players all play decked out in pink gloves or pink shoes or pink wristbands all in support of this horrible disease--a disease I knew little about and have never known anyone personally who fought a battle against it. At halftime at that game in October, the field filled with women, mostly older women, wearing pink shirts, pink pants, pink boa's, and waving pink ribbons everywhere. The music screamed lyrics of the popular rock song "what doesn't kill us makes us stronger" as they danced around led by the Cardinals cheerleaders also decked out in pink. As they ended, their ribbons spread out and covered the 50 yard line from one side of the field to the other creating that large familiar pink breast cancer awareness ribbon. I remember thinking, "Wow, how sad for all those women, all those families. Yet they all looked so proud to have survived and become supporters of this movement. They were such a unified force all supporting each other. They deserve to wear pink." Several weeks later, sitting in the parking lot of the doctor's office just after I was diagnosed--that unforgettable, nightmarish Friday night when my reality completely changed--Greg remembered that Cardinals game. He told me that night that when he pinned that ribbon on he had a horrible sinking feeling inside as he thought to himself, "We'll probably be facing this some day". He was dead serious and as surprised by the coincidence as I was. Again, a weird premonition or just a random thought, but it was a thought.

So today, 43 days into this, as I walked back into the Cardinals stadium for the first time since my diagnosis, and Greg pulled on his jersey with the pink ribbon still pinned to it, the whole scene was a little surreal. I realized I not only COULD be on that field next October representing survivors, I hope I AM on that field representing survivors. I hope that a year from now, I call myself a breast cancer survivor and celebrate with others who have faced and conquered this emotionally challenging diagnosis.

A week or so ago a friend of mine told me of a friend he has whose diagnosis and story was very similar to mine. He suggested I contact her. Hmmmm....I haven't contacted anyone who has cancer other than my trusted friend, Paula. Why? Why was I afraid to reach out and talk to someone else who has gone through this? There is a high school teacher in my district who was a former student of mine who has gone through this battle. Why haven't I contacted her? There is a teacher at one of the elementary schools currently going through chemo for breast cancer. Why haven't I contacted her? I didn't understand my hesitation. Have I minimized my cancer so much that I'm afraid to talk to others who have faced this?

Just before Thanksgiving when my emotions were going crazy, something hit me late one night and I started thinking about it. I climbed out of bed, I wasn't sleeping anyways--a common thing these days--and I emailed my friend's friend. She was far away and didn't know me. Besides, you get that sense of safety (though it can be dangerously false) when chatting with a perfect stranger on line. Her name was Donna and she looked nice enough on her FB page. I'm sure I sounded crazy, strange, and all messed up as I rambled on, but I pressed Send anyways. The next day, each time I saw that red circle with a number by my FB app on my phone, I quickly looked to see if she had replied. Was she going to think I was stupid, a freak, a baby? Soon, there it was. A sense of relief came over me as I read her response. She was glad I contacted her. She wanted to share her story. The next day, when she had more time, she wrote her story. As I read it, I teared up realizing we had felt some of the exact same fears, some of the exact same thoughts, some of the exact same guilts. I couldn't wait to reply back. All of the questions I've had about whether I should or shouldn't be feeling this way were answered. I wasn't the only person who felt these strange mixed up emotions. Over the last couple of days, that's the only part of my cancer I did let in because connecting with Donna was such a sense of relief.

Our football friends, Vicki and Henry met up with us for lunch today before the game. Vicki was so sweet she brought me two books about surviving breast cancer. She also has a friend whose diagnosis sounds just like mine and her friend recommended these books. I was so grateful and already plan to reach out to Vicki's friend too. Maybe that will be how I get my strength for this. Maybe that is what those women on the football field have learned and experienced that no one else can really understand. Maybe that's what it means to really be sisters in cancer.