11/30/12--Friday--Day 48--T-Minus 0--The Day is Finally Here
The day is finally here. It's the morning of surgery. My mind the last 24 hours had been preoccupied with this cold I haven't seemed to shake. The furnace at my office has been broken for a month now, which means I start my working day at 50 degrees. My space heater starts gaining on the cold the minute I turn it on and by 11 it's achieved 70 degrees. First Carol got sick and this week I finally started feeling it. On Tuesday I had a sore throat so I called the nurse and she said if I didn't kick this, they will have to postpone the surgery--the last thing I want. I went home Tuesday and went to bed at 4 pm. My body finally said "You're done!" I didn't wake up at all until 6 am the next morning. Oh my goodness. I have never slept 14 hours in my life, but my sore throat was gone. I've still been stuffy and congested since then.
Last night when we got to town we stopped to complete a few handy man tasks at my aunt's new house. By the time we were at dinner, fear of my surgery being cancelled due to this cold set in. I just wanted to climb into bed.
We arrived at Preston's and I was tucked in by 9:30 pm. I slept most of the night with short interruptions of coughing and sniffling.
The alarm was set for six but my internal alarm went off at 5. I got up and stood in Preston's semi-hot shower for thirty minutes trying to clear my sinuses. Hopefully I can pull this off this morning and pass any nurse inspection of being sick. I DON'T want to postpone this day. It's been three weeks coming and my patience are gone.
I'm not nervous about the surgery. Maybe the cold has been God's way of giving me something else to worry about. My new Internet friend, Donna, has been super helpful. I've emailed her at least 10 stupid questions like, "What do I wear? Will I be able to wear a bra going home?" She has been such a good resource. She has related to every crazy, mixed up, scared, worried, frustrated feeling I've experienced. She's helped me know I'm not crazy, I'm not making too much out of this, and I'm not in this alone. Thank you Donna!
I have received a ton of support from many of my friends. Thank you for all of your thoughts and prayers. I have been surrounded by love. I know God and my mom are guiding me though this and this surgery is going to go well. Keep your fingers crossed, your thoughts positive, and your prayers lifted up. I love you all. Thank goodness this day is finally here!
Friday, November 30, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
A Sense of Peace........
11/28/12--Wednesday--Day 46--T-Minus 2 Days--Calm, Collected, and Confident
So here we are, 36 hours before surgery and I couldn't feel more calm. Funny, I thought I would be completely anxious, nervous, and pacing the floor, but I'm not. I'm ready. I'm at peace and ready for whatever the result may be. Of course I am hoping this is a small hill I'm about to climb rather than a large mountain, but I've climbed both before, and I know I can climb either again.
We went to the pre-op appointment on Monday morning. I love my doctor! She's totally calm. She came into the room, sat down in the chair by me--actually slouched down like we all sometimes do on Monday mornings that come way too early--and told me she felt really good about the surgery and my case. "I haven't worried even a little bit about you since I first saw you," she said. "You have the right attitude. You're going to be fine and I'm confident this is going to be a simple procedure." That was a great way to start my week and prepare me for surgery!
Like always, we asked all kinds of questions. I did find out they don't usually take a lymphoid with DCIS, but she wants to because my biopsy pathology report is "suspicious for micro invasion". That's what we are hoping is NOT the case, but if it is, she would have to go back in to take a lymphoid for testing so she would rather do it when we do the surgery. I also found out about the seed localization procedure she will be using. MD Anderson Cancer Center is one of only about three places in the country that use this procedure. The "normal" procedure before surgery has the radiologist use ultrasound to place a wire as close to the cancer spot as possible. The wire would stick out of the breast until the surgery, which means it could be bumped or moved. The surgeon would make the incision and follow the wire to the end to find the tumor. In this new nuclear seed localization approach, the radiologist uses a needle similar to the biopsy needle, to place a radioactive seed about the size of a grain of rice exactly where the cancer shows on the ultrasound. The surgeon then uses a gamma probe to locate exactly where to cut. There are several YouTube videos that explain the procedure. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZXUttnSR04. It is supposed to result in a much smaller incision and a much better result of getting the entire tumor. It's a little scary that a nuclear waste team comes to the OR to remove the seed once it's cut out, but what the heck. I'm about to fill my body with radiation anyways :) No, really, there is not supposed to be any health risk to using the seed.
I did get a blood test last week to test if I was protein S deficient. Blood clots run in both sides of my family and some have tested protein S deficient. My test came back with a lower than normal count, so the doctor decided to give me Lovenox before surgery just to be cautious and because we have such a long drive home. She also wants me to get out and walk every 50 minutes on the drive home.
The doctor also said recovery should be pretty easy. There will really be just some tape over the incision and I can shower the next day--no hot tub for two weeks though. I can go back to work whenever I feel like it. She said to take it a day at a time, but since the pathology report will take three to five days to get back, I might go back to work just to keep my mind off the wait. So that's it. We walked out feeling pretty good about the whole thing.
My 99 year old grandma finished her last radiation treatment last week. I told her she set the bar high. She hardly missed a beat during her treatments. Said she was a little tired, but never really had many of the side effects. That's a great sign for me! Sierra, my dog, had surgery today to remove some skin warts around her ears and get her teeth cleaned. She sailed through it like a pro and was walking around like nothing happened by tonight. So Friday it's my turn. I plan to sail through it like a pro, be walking around like nothing happened by evening, and have no side effects. I'm definitely calm, collected, and confident!
So here we are, 36 hours before surgery and I couldn't feel more calm. Funny, I thought I would be completely anxious, nervous, and pacing the floor, but I'm not. I'm ready. I'm at peace and ready for whatever the result may be. Of course I am hoping this is a small hill I'm about to climb rather than a large mountain, but I've climbed both before, and I know I can climb either again.
We went to the pre-op appointment on Monday morning. I love my doctor! She's totally calm. She came into the room, sat down in the chair by me--actually slouched down like we all sometimes do on Monday mornings that come way too early--and told me she felt really good about the surgery and my case. "I haven't worried even a little bit about you since I first saw you," she said. "You have the right attitude. You're going to be fine and I'm confident this is going to be a simple procedure." That was a great way to start my week and prepare me for surgery!
Like always, we asked all kinds of questions. I did find out they don't usually take a lymphoid with DCIS, but she wants to because my biopsy pathology report is "suspicious for micro invasion". That's what we are hoping is NOT the case, but if it is, she would have to go back in to take a lymphoid for testing so she would rather do it when we do the surgery. I also found out about the seed localization procedure she will be using. MD Anderson Cancer Center is one of only about three places in the country that use this procedure. The "normal" procedure before surgery has the radiologist use ultrasound to place a wire as close to the cancer spot as possible. The wire would stick out of the breast until the surgery, which means it could be bumped or moved. The surgeon would make the incision and follow the wire to the end to find the tumor. In this new nuclear seed localization approach, the radiologist uses a needle similar to the biopsy needle, to place a radioactive seed about the size of a grain of rice exactly where the cancer shows on the ultrasound. The surgeon then uses a gamma probe to locate exactly where to cut. There are several YouTube videos that explain the procedure. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZXUttnSR04. It is supposed to result in a much smaller incision and a much better result of getting the entire tumor. It's a little scary that a nuclear waste team comes to the OR to remove the seed once it's cut out, but what the heck. I'm about to fill my body with radiation anyways :) No, really, there is not supposed to be any health risk to using the seed.
I did get a blood test last week to test if I was protein S deficient. Blood clots run in both sides of my family and some have tested protein S deficient. My test came back with a lower than normal count, so the doctor decided to give me Lovenox before surgery just to be cautious and because we have such a long drive home. She also wants me to get out and walk every 50 minutes on the drive home.
The doctor also said recovery should be pretty easy. There will really be just some tape over the incision and I can shower the next day--no hot tub for two weeks though. I can go back to work whenever I feel like it. She said to take it a day at a time, but since the pathology report will take three to five days to get back, I might go back to work just to keep my mind off the wait. So that's it. We walked out feeling pretty good about the whole thing.
My 99 year old grandma finished her last radiation treatment last week. I told her she set the bar high. She hardly missed a beat during her treatments. Said she was a little tired, but never really had many of the side effects. That's a great sign for me! Sierra, my dog, had surgery today to remove some skin warts around her ears and get her teeth cleaned. She sailed through it like a pro and was walking around like nothing happened by tonight. So Friday it's my turn. I plan to sail through it like a pro, be walking around like nothing happened by evening, and have no side effects. I'm definitely calm, collected, and confident!
Sunday, November 25, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
A Stir of Emotions........
11/21/12--Wednesday--Day 39--T-Minus 9 Days--The Good, The Bad, and The Emotional Chaos
Well you would think I was already on the Tamoxifen and going through menopause the way my emotions have been these last few days. After my last blog post, I actually woke up feeling relaxed and more at ease. I decided I just needed to stop, take a breath, and quit being so anxious. The surgery and the results will come when they come, and it is completely out of my controls so STOP TRYING TO CONTROL IT, SUSAN!
My dad called. He read my post and reflected on how the different seasons of our life put a new perspective on things, even for him. I felt good. While I am Blogging right now to relieve my stress and anxiety, it was nice to know someone was following along and, most importantly, could gleam something for themselves from reading my thoughts. By the way, I have discovered posting a comment from a mobil device (phone or iPad) doesn't work so thanks to those of you who have tried. I am OK with receiving personal messages on FB or e-mails. I do appreciate the interaction and kind thoughts.
It is interesting how little pieces of wisdom can sink into my brain and redirect my emotions. I have learned so much already and I am only 39 days into my journey. Many of my lessons have come from learning about people--some good and some bad. I have come to realize there are those who truly support me, without judgement, no matter how big or small my emotions become. No matter how busy they are, no matter how complicated their life might be, they have time to show compassion for what I am going through and they genuinely care. It doesn't matter if they would handle things the same way I do or differently, they are just there to support me. It has been so nice to truly feel the love that these people have poured out and the positive energy I have received. Much of the energy comes from little things they say. I have received supporting cards, flowers and even gifts, all which have brightened my day and kept me positive.
A dear friend who has obviously been reading my blog posts sent me a card the other day. The kind words of encouragement and support warmed my heart, but the copy of a page from a book they inserted took my breath away. After going to bed anxious the previous night, here is what was at the top of this page: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippains 4:6-7. The page explained the passage even more describing how "anxiety can keep us thinking obsessively about a problem, occupying all of our time and energy. We pray for God to interveen... but still we are consumed with it...Our anxiety comes from a false sense of control." But, we have to be willing "for God to work it out any way He chooses. Let go of your will, and let your heart and your mind be at peace." Wow, powerful statements that are certainly easy to say and even type, but sure are hard to live by. But as I read that page, I believe the Holy Spirit inspired my friend to send that to me at just the right time, and it was something I needed to hear, and I need to keep repeating to myself.
Friends like this have been powerful forces in a time when my mind and emotions have been stirring inside like a crazy tornado touching down here and there when it's least expected. There are so many ups and down. I'm good, I'm ok, all is fine, then boom, my heart stirs and I get scared, feel guilty like I caused this whole thing somehow, feel like I'm making way too much out of this. I keep a good face on for everyone. Seems like I need to support them and make them all believe I am fine. Sometimes I feel judged so I just feel like staying quiet, even though I wish I could talk to someone who wouldn't judge me on if I was "handling things right" or "making too much out of this" or if I should or shouldn't be feeling one way or another.
People who know me know I am an analyzer, so it's no surprise that I'm analyzing the heck out of everything that is happening to me right now. Some people mistake my analyzing for worrying. It's not. It's just who I am. I am also someone who is very in tune with the energy people put off. I know, now I'm sounding a little nutty, but really. I have always been able to "feel" people, even when I don't want to. So those few people who truly bring negative energy have been a big challenge for me right now. I am not into self-pity, but all I can think is that after this crazy, tragic year, my emotional immunity is just weak. Right now, negative energy is so magnified, so blown out of proportion, it engulfs me. One person told me of a friend who had cancer who refused to be around anyone who said negative things because she felt the same way. She simply started to walk away.
On a different take, maybe my emotions are also welling up inside because it is the night before Thanksgiving, a night I would usually spend on the phone with my mom as I made my stuffing and prepared my turkey. I miss her so much. I wish she was here to go through this with me because I could and would talk to her about all these crazy mixed up feeling, and for whatever reason, I would just feel better. Tomorrow will be our first Thanksgiving without her. It's been four months. I keep telling myself that having her in heaven fighting this battle for me is much more powerful than if she was here, but I still miss her. Friday is Greg's birthday and Saturday is my dad's birthday. Though there is so much sadness without her here, for the next few days I am going to be surrounded by family who all support each other, all help each other, and are all truly amazing.
On Monday I have my pre-op appointment, then three days of work, and the surgery on
Friday--FINALLY. I just want what feels like a ticking time bomb out of me. So anyways, that's my crazy emotional roller coaster right now. Thanks to those of you who continue to follow my posts and share this journey with me. I definitely don't feel like I'm walking alone even with my crazy, mixed up stir of emotions!
Well you would think I was already on the Tamoxifen and going through menopause the way my emotions have been these last few days. After my last blog post, I actually woke up feeling relaxed and more at ease. I decided I just needed to stop, take a breath, and quit being so anxious. The surgery and the results will come when they come, and it is completely out of my controls so STOP TRYING TO CONTROL IT, SUSAN!
My dad called. He read my post and reflected on how the different seasons of our life put a new perspective on things, even for him. I felt good. While I am Blogging right now to relieve my stress and anxiety, it was nice to know someone was following along and, most importantly, could gleam something for themselves from reading my thoughts. By the way, I have discovered posting a comment from a mobil device (phone or iPad) doesn't work so thanks to those of you who have tried. I am OK with receiving personal messages on FB or e-mails. I do appreciate the interaction and kind thoughts.
It is interesting how little pieces of wisdom can sink into my brain and redirect my emotions. I have learned so much already and I am only 39 days into my journey. Many of my lessons have come from learning about people--some good and some bad. I have come to realize there are those who truly support me, without judgement, no matter how big or small my emotions become. No matter how busy they are, no matter how complicated their life might be, they have time to show compassion for what I am going through and they genuinely care. It doesn't matter if they would handle things the same way I do or differently, they are just there to support me. It has been so nice to truly feel the love that these people have poured out and the positive energy I have received. Much of the energy comes from little things they say. I have received supporting cards, flowers and even gifts, all which have brightened my day and kept me positive.
A dear friend who has obviously been reading my blog posts sent me a card the other day. The kind words of encouragement and support warmed my heart, but the copy of a page from a book they inserted took my breath away. After going to bed anxious the previous night, here is what was at the top of this page: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippains 4:6-7. The page explained the passage even more describing how "anxiety can keep us thinking obsessively about a problem, occupying all of our time and energy. We pray for God to interveen... but still we are consumed with it...Our anxiety comes from a false sense of control." But, we have to be willing "for God to work it out any way He chooses. Let go of your will, and let your heart and your mind be at peace." Wow, powerful statements that are certainly easy to say and even type, but sure are hard to live by. But as I read that page, I believe the Holy Spirit inspired my friend to send that to me at just the right time, and it was something I needed to hear, and I need to keep repeating to myself.
Friends like this have been powerful forces in a time when my mind and emotions have been stirring inside like a crazy tornado touching down here and there when it's least expected. There are so many ups and down. I'm good, I'm ok, all is fine, then boom, my heart stirs and I get scared, feel guilty like I caused this whole thing somehow, feel like I'm making way too much out of this. I keep a good face on for everyone. Seems like I need to support them and make them all believe I am fine. Sometimes I feel judged so I just feel like staying quiet, even though I wish I could talk to someone who wouldn't judge me on if I was "handling things right" or "making too much out of this" or if I should or shouldn't be feeling one way or another.
People who know me know I am an analyzer, so it's no surprise that I'm analyzing the heck out of everything that is happening to me right now. Some people mistake my analyzing for worrying. It's not. It's just who I am. I am also someone who is very in tune with the energy people put off. I know, now I'm sounding a little nutty, but really. I have always been able to "feel" people, even when I don't want to. So those few people who truly bring negative energy have been a big challenge for me right now. I am not into self-pity, but all I can think is that after this crazy, tragic year, my emotional immunity is just weak. Right now, negative energy is so magnified, so blown out of proportion, it engulfs me. One person told me of a friend who had cancer who refused to be around anyone who said negative things because she felt the same way. She simply started to walk away.
On a different take, maybe my emotions are also welling up inside because it is the night before Thanksgiving, a night I would usually spend on the phone with my mom as I made my stuffing and prepared my turkey. I miss her so much. I wish she was here to go through this with me because I could and would talk to her about all these crazy mixed up feeling, and for whatever reason, I would just feel better. Tomorrow will be our first Thanksgiving without her. It's been four months. I keep telling myself that having her in heaven fighting this battle for me is much more powerful than if she was here, but I still miss her. Friday is Greg's birthday and Saturday is my dad's birthday. Though there is so much sadness without her here, for the next few days I am going to be surrounded by family who all support each other, all help each other, and are all truly amazing.
On Monday I have my pre-op appointment, then three days of work, and the surgery on
Friday--FINALLY. I just want what feels like a ticking time bomb out of me. So anyways, that's my crazy emotional roller coaster right now. Thanks to those of you who continue to follow my posts and share this journey with me. I definitely don't feel like I'm walking alone even with my crazy, mixed up stir of emotions!
Monday, November 19, 2012
Trying to Focus.........
11/18/12--Sunday--Day 36--T-12 Days--Waiting is the Hardest Part
Wow, focus continues to be a struggle. As long as I stay busy and basically ignore the issue, I seem to do ok, but with every passing day, my focus is harder and harder to maintain. Perhaps it is because I feel completely out of control. It's strange. It's not like any of us really know exactly what tomorrow will bring, but I guess we plan and assume everything will be as it is today, or as we plan for it to be anyway. So we live in the false sense of security that things will be as we predict them to be. Then, all of a sudden, you can't predict the future. You can guess. You can assume. You can think positively. But until you know, you long to know. I guess that's what it was like when we were all kids waiting for Christmas. You knew what you put on your list to Santa. You hoped you would get it. You anxiously awaited that day that you could tear open the box where the most desired toy of the season would be and you could finally play with it. But until that day came, you just didn't know.
It is still 12 days away from surgery, then probably another five before I get the pathology results. I keep thinking positively that everything is going to be ok, yet I don't know that it is. I feel completely out of control because I don't know what December and January and February are going to look like. I can't predict them. Will I be lucky and just have DCIS and have the lump successfully removed then do radiation in January and February and all will be well? I want to think that will be the case, but you just don't know. I think I had convinced myself that was going to be the scenario and undoubtedly that was exactly what was going to happen. Well, that changed the other night when my friend Heidi's mother's results came back differently. Then I realized, it could happen. All my positive thinking, believing, planning could be wrong. Then I just wanted the waiting to be over. I just want to know what is growing inside of me, and what is it going to take to get it to stop.
Today sermon in church focused on seasons in our life and the scripture from Ecclesiastes 3:1 which says, "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven." It's easy to forget how nothing lasts forever--how certain events or time periods in our life really are just seasons. Sometimes we get caught up in everyday living and think it's going to be this way forever. I remember when I first had Preston. About twenty-four days in, I went outside with Greg and just started crying. I wondered how I was ever going to do this. How was I going to be able to survive getting up two and three times every night from now on. I was so caught up in the moment, I didn't realize this stage would pass quickly--too quickly--and that I would miss those middle of the night cuddle sessions. When I had Brooklyn, I had more foresight and cherished every midnight wakeup cry because I knew it wouldn't last. I could predict it would end.
So maybe I am so overwhelmed because all of my familiar seasons seem to have ended or changed all at the same time. And now I'm in a new and unfamiliar season and I just don't know what to expect. The season of having a mother to turn to when no one else will understand is over for me. Yet now I feel I need my mom more than ever. The season of having kids live at home keeping the house busy and our lives filled with familiar routines ended. Yet now I could use the distractions that brought more than ever. Of course I thought I knew which season was coming. It was supposed to be the empty-nester, foot-loose and fancy free, celebration of finally having time for me season. But that's not what came. What season is this? Right now it feels like that eerie calm before the storm where you can't go anywhere or do anything until the storm comes and passes. All you can do is wait and sometimes that just seems like the hardest part.
Wow, focus continues to be a struggle. As long as I stay busy and basically ignore the issue, I seem to do ok, but with every passing day, my focus is harder and harder to maintain. Perhaps it is because I feel completely out of control. It's strange. It's not like any of us really know exactly what tomorrow will bring, but I guess we plan and assume everything will be as it is today, or as we plan for it to be anyway. So we live in the false sense of security that things will be as we predict them to be. Then, all of a sudden, you can't predict the future. You can guess. You can assume. You can think positively. But until you know, you long to know. I guess that's what it was like when we were all kids waiting for Christmas. You knew what you put on your list to Santa. You hoped you would get it. You anxiously awaited that day that you could tear open the box where the most desired toy of the season would be and you could finally play with it. But until that day came, you just didn't know.
It is still 12 days away from surgery, then probably another five before I get the pathology results. I keep thinking positively that everything is going to be ok, yet I don't know that it is. I feel completely out of control because I don't know what December and January and February are going to look like. I can't predict them. Will I be lucky and just have DCIS and have the lump successfully removed then do radiation in January and February and all will be well? I want to think that will be the case, but you just don't know. I think I had convinced myself that was going to be the scenario and undoubtedly that was exactly what was going to happen. Well, that changed the other night when my friend Heidi's mother's results came back differently. Then I realized, it could happen. All my positive thinking, believing, planning could be wrong. Then I just wanted the waiting to be over. I just want to know what is growing inside of me, and what is it going to take to get it to stop.
Today sermon in church focused on seasons in our life and the scripture from Ecclesiastes 3:1 which says, "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven." It's easy to forget how nothing lasts forever--how certain events or time periods in our life really are just seasons. Sometimes we get caught up in everyday living and think it's going to be this way forever. I remember when I first had Preston. About twenty-four days in, I went outside with Greg and just started crying. I wondered how I was ever going to do this. How was I going to be able to survive getting up two and three times every night from now on. I was so caught up in the moment, I didn't realize this stage would pass quickly--too quickly--and that I would miss those middle of the night cuddle sessions. When I had Brooklyn, I had more foresight and cherished every midnight wakeup cry because I knew it wouldn't last. I could predict it would end.
So maybe I am so overwhelmed because all of my familiar seasons seem to have ended or changed all at the same time. And now I'm in a new and unfamiliar season and I just don't know what to expect. The season of having a mother to turn to when no one else will understand is over for me. Yet now I feel I need my mom more than ever. The season of having kids live at home keeping the house busy and our lives filled with familiar routines ended. Yet now I could use the distractions that brought more than ever. Of course I thought I knew which season was coming. It was supposed to be the empty-nester, foot-loose and fancy free, celebration of finally having time for me season. But that's not what came. What season is this? Right now it feels like that eerie calm before the storm where you can't go anywhere or do anything until the storm comes and passes. All you can do is wait and sometimes that just seems like the hardest part.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Every Story Matters.......
11/16/12--Friday--Day 34--T-Two Weeks--Inspiration Sometimes Comes From Devastation
It seems part of a breast cancer diagnosis is learning about all of the people you know who have friends or family members who have also had breast cancer. Hearing these stories can be very beneficial in many ways. First, I guess it is true, misery loves company. Hearing I am not the only person in this battle is a little reassuring. Hearing that most of these people not only have survived their breast cancer, but have been given completely clean bills of health is even more reassuring. Hearing these stories also helps you not fall into the self-pity trap. No matter how bad you might think you have it, there is always a story of someone who has it worse. I remember after my mom died and we took Brooklyn to Idaho for college, I started thinking about how bad this year had been and saying, "It can't get much worse." Hmmm...I probably won't ever say that again.
As I think about all of the bad news stories of people in my own friends and family circle, I know I have many prayers to say for others as well as myself. One person high on my prayer list is my friend Paula. We were childhood friends growing up in the same neighborhood. Her daughter is the same age as Brooklyn so we were both talking about what it was going to be like being "empty nesters". This summer, before her daughter left for college, Paula discovered she had cancer that was spread throughout her body. Now, after moving her daughter across the country to go to college, not only is she an empty nester, but every 21 days she endures large doses of chemotherapy. I turned to her first when I learned I needed a biopsy. She was genuinely concerned about me and directed me to the MD Anderson Cancer Center. Here she is facing her own life-threatening challenges, yet she continues on, working when she can, living life with an amazing up-beat attitude. She is truly inspiring.
Another friend I've known for the last decade, Bonnie, is also inspiring. Last year Bonnie had a strange lump appear in the middle of her chest. After much poking, prodding, testing and diagnosing, eventually, this led to a bone marrow transplant last November. She has been fighting ever since. She had to relocate to a different state for six months. That makes my six week relocation look like a cake walk. Though she still has a long way to go, a week ago her bone marrow biopsy showed the transplant has been successful after one year. How inspirational is that!
Last week I heard from one of my high school classmates, Heidi. Interestingly, her mother just had a lumpectomy about a week ago. As I was laying in bed one night, she and I began messaging--it was one of those nights I didn't Blog so my mind was racing. We were comparing notes on what her mother's doctor told them about DCIS and what my doctor told me. It was nice to talk with someone at right about the same stage feeling similar anxieties. Then Heidi told me her mother had a kidney transplant last year and now is facing this challenge of breast cancer. The other night her mom's lumpectomy results came back from pathology. Heidi messaged me--the cancer was invasive and they didn't get it all.
While the unsureness of what might happen with my surgery looms in the back of my head, I can only hope I have the grace, spirit, and amazing strength to face whatever my results come back as. It could be the best case scenario -non-invasive, all parts removed, radiation, then a clean bill of health--or it could be worse--invasive, not all removed, chemo, and even a mastectomy. Someone asked me today, "What is your gut feeling?" I thought hard, but I really couldn't answer. My gut feeling when I found the lump was surely this was no big deal. Maybe I couldn't answer because my gut feeling isn't what is important. What is important is what I do with my situation, no matter how great or how grim. What I know is every story I've been told matters, and each will serve as an example and an inspiration of how to keep stay positive because what I do know now is it could always be worse.
It seems part of a breast cancer diagnosis is learning about all of the people you know who have friends or family members who have also had breast cancer. Hearing these stories can be very beneficial in many ways. First, I guess it is true, misery loves company. Hearing I am not the only person in this battle is a little reassuring. Hearing that most of these people not only have survived their breast cancer, but have been given completely clean bills of health is even more reassuring. Hearing these stories also helps you not fall into the self-pity trap. No matter how bad you might think you have it, there is always a story of someone who has it worse. I remember after my mom died and we took Brooklyn to Idaho for college, I started thinking about how bad this year had been and saying, "It can't get much worse." Hmmm...I probably won't ever say that again.
As I think about all of the bad news stories of people in my own friends and family circle, I know I have many prayers to say for others as well as myself. One person high on my prayer list is my friend Paula. We were childhood friends growing up in the same neighborhood. Her daughter is the same age as Brooklyn so we were both talking about what it was going to be like being "empty nesters". This summer, before her daughter left for college, Paula discovered she had cancer that was spread throughout her body. Now, after moving her daughter across the country to go to college, not only is she an empty nester, but every 21 days she endures large doses of chemotherapy. I turned to her first when I learned I needed a biopsy. She was genuinely concerned about me and directed me to the MD Anderson Cancer Center. Here she is facing her own life-threatening challenges, yet she continues on, working when she can, living life with an amazing up-beat attitude. She is truly inspiring.
Another friend I've known for the last decade, Bonnie, is also inspiring. Last year Bonnie had a strange lump appear in the middle of her chest. After much poking, prodding, testing and diagnosing, eventually, this led to a bone marrow transplant last November. She has been fighting ever since. She had to relocate to a different state for six months. That makes my six week relocation look like a cake walk. Though she still has a long way to go, a week ago her bone marrow biopsy showed the transplant has been successful after one year. How inspirational is that!
Last week I heard from one of my high school classmates, Heidi. Interestingly, her mother just had a lumpectomy about a week ago. As I was laying in bed one night, she and I began messaging--it was one of those nights I didn't Blog so my mind was racing. We were comparing notes on what her mother's doctor told them about DCIS and what my doctor told me. It was nice to talk with someone at right about the same stage feeling similar anxieties. Then Heidi told me her mother had a kidney transplant last year and now is facing this challenge of breast cancer. The other night her mom's lumpectomy results came back from pathology. Heidi messaged me--the cancer was invasive and they didn't get it all.
While the unsureness of what might happen with my surgery looms in the back of my head, I can only hope I have the grace, spirit, and amazing strength to face whatever my results come back as. It could be the best case scenario -non-invasive, all parts removed, radiation, then a clean bill of health--or it could be worse--invasive, not all removed, chemo, and even a mastectomy. Someone asked me today, "What is your gut feeling?" I thought hard, but I really couldn't answer. My gut feeling when I found the lump was surely this was no big deal. Maybe I couldn't answer because my gut feeling isn't what is important. What is important is what I do with my situation, no matter how great or how grim. What I know is every story I've been told matters, and each will serve as an example and an inspiration of how to keep stay positive because what I do know now is it could always be worse.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Controlling My Lack of Control......
11/14/12--Wednesday--Day 32--T-16--Focus on What You Can Change
Day 2 of normalcy back at work was packed with tons of progress. I met with my team most of the morning and we mapped out all of the projects for the next few months and set a clear roadmap which they can follow with or without me. Hopefully I will be able to continue to work remotely come January which will help relieve some of the burden from the team. Staying busy at work has already proven to be extremely distracting and helped me not worry about what we all know I can't control.
At this point I am trying to focus on what I can control and what can help me physically. One issue I've started to look more closely at is what I eat. I have a lot of guilt about getting cancer. I know that sounds silly, and most people would think that is a stupid feeling, but it is something with which I struggle. I am very overweight. It's hard not to wonder if I wasn't overweight, would I have cancer? There is no evidence that more overweight people get cancer, but your mind plays tricks on you when you try to figure out why something happened to you. I have asked each doctor if getting breast cancer is tied to me being overweight, and each has assured me it's not, but I stil feel guilty. I have never eaten very many fruits or vegetables. Most people who know me know I have always been an extremely picky eater. I'm a texture eater, or what is called a supertaster, which means I have more taste buds than the average person. Not only does that make me more sensitive to the way food feels in my mouth, I also taste more bitterness and my tastes last longer. The result is I eat less vegetables or fruits. Of course I have known this for a long time, but never could figure out how to "learn to like" eating things that made me gag.
So a few weeks ago, way before the cancer diagnosis, my boss, Dr. T, his secretary, Gail, and I were having a random conversation about eating more healthy. They both had purchased these new blenders which helped them incorporate "hidden" vegetables into their diet. The thought intrigued me as they each talked about smoothies that included vegetables but tasted like fruit. I decided to keep my eye out for one, especially since I eat very few vegetables or fruits.
This past Monday while in Phoenix, the Vitamix blender was being demonstrated at Costco. It was super expensive, but wow, what it could do. I stood there and watch the guy make chocolate ice cream that contained spinach and a tomato and was made in under 5 minutes. It tasted great. Then I watched as he made soup. Tons of vegetables, water, a little taco seasoning, some tortilla chips, and dinner was made. He proceeded to make smoothies that tasted amazing yet included spinach, celery, carrots, and all kinds of vegetables as well as fruit. I tasted all five of his concoctions and liked every one. I probably ate more vegetables and fruits in his demo than I had eaten the whole week. Needless to say, I bought the blender.
I am excited to start disguising my vegetables into easy-to-drink smoothies. And whether or not being overweight or not eating vegetables and fruits is or is not tied to me getting breast cancer, it is at least a change in my life that I can control, and hopefully it will make me feel a little healthier, even when my body is failing me.
Day 2 of normalcy back at work was packed with tons of progress. I met with my team most of the morning and we mapped out all of the projects for the next few months and set a clear roadmap which they can follow with or without me. Hopefully I will be able to continue to work remotely come January which will help relieve some of the burden from the team. Staying busy at work has already proven to be extremely distracting and helped me not worry about what we all know I can't control.
At this point I am trying to focus on what I can control and what can help me physically. One issue I've started to look more closely at is what I eat. I have a lot of guilt about getting cancer. I know that sounds silly, and most people would think that is a stupid feeling, but it is something with which I struggle. I am very overweight. It's hard not to wonder if I wasn't overweight, would I have cancer? There is no evidence that more overweight people get cancer, but your mind plays tricks on you when you try to figure out why something happened to you. I have asked each doctor if getting breast cancer is tied to me being overweight, and each has assured me it's not, but I stil feel guilty. I have never eaten very many fruits or vegetables. Most people who know me know I have always been an extremely picky eater. I'm a texture eater, or what is called a supertaster, which means I have more taste buds than the average person. Not only does that make me more sensitive to the way food feels in my mouth, I also taste more bitterness and my tastes last longer. The result is I eat less vegetables or fruits. Of course I have known this for a long time, but never could figure out how to "learn to like" eating things that made me gag.
So a few weeks ago, way before the cancer diagnosis, my boss, Dr. T, his secretary, Gail, and I were having a random conversation about eating more healthy. They both had purchased these new blenders which helped them incorporate "hidden" vegetables into their diet. The thought intrigued me as they each talked about smoothies that included vegetables but tasted like fruit. I decided to keep my eye out for one, especially since I eat very few vegetables or fruits.
This past Monday while in Phoenix, the Vitamix blender was being demonstrated at Costco. It was super expensive, but wow, what it could do. I stood there and watch the guy make chocolate ice cream that contained spinach and a tomato and was made in under 5 minutes. It tasted great. Then I watched as he made soup. Tons of vegetables, water, a little taco seasoning, some tortilla chips, and dinner was made. He proceeded to make smoothies that tasted amazing yet included spinach, celery, carrots, and all kinds of vegetables as well as fruit. I tasted all five of his concoctions and liked every one. I probably ate more vegetables and fruits in his demo than I had eaten the whole week. Needless to say, I bought the blender.
I am excited to start disguising my vegetables into easy-to-drink smoothies. And whether or not being overweight or not eating vegetables and fruits is or is not tied to me getting breast cancer, it is at least a change in my life that I can control, and hopefully it will make me feel a little healthier, even when my body is failing me.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Working It Down........
11/13/12--Tuesday--Day 31--T-Minus 17 Days and Counting
Today was my first day back at work since I announced my cancer to my team and my boss last Monday. I left Tuesday for the doctor's appointment, Wednesday was my mom's Hospice memorial and Thursday I was back in Mesa for lab work. By Friday, I was still in Mesa and just wasn't where I needed to be mentally to go into work. Yesterday it was back to Mesa for the radiologist appointment, so finally, after 7 days, I put my head back in the game and returned to work today. I have to admit, it felt good to wake up with something on my mind besides the cancer.
My team is absolutely amazing! Before I left last Monday, we brainstormed the major projects that needed to be completed or worked on so we didn't fall behind. My team dug in and never missed a beat. All of the projects progressed as scheduled. They even completely cleaned and organized the warehouse and it looks amazing. In reality, they admitted they were glad I wasn't there for that one because they could do it they way they wanted. They did great.
Because it has been such a challenging year for me personally, I have missed more work since April than I've missed in 18.5 years when back in 1994 I was put to bed due to pregnancy complications with Brooklyn. Thank you Carol, Bryan, Stephanie, Duane, Paul, and Galina. You have been the best support ever.
Despite my wonderful co-workers, it's hard not to feel very guilty about missing so much work. I looked at the calendar and realized I only have 8.5 work days left before the surgery. Then, if I'm out for a week following surgery, I may only have about 13 work days before starting radiation. Luckily, because of the type of work I do, I am hoping to be able to do some work during radiation, but here I go getting WAY ahead of myself again trying to plan and control something entirely out of my control, so I'll stop.
Despite my guilt about missing so much work, I love my job, and returning to it is part of what is keeping me sane. It is another way of keeping the normalcy in my life. There is just so much to do as I start working it down--T-minus 17 days and counting!
Today was my first day back at work since I announced my cancer to my team and my boss last Monday. I left Tuesday for the doctor's appointment, Wednesday was my mom's Hospice memorial and Thursday I was back in Mesa for lab work. By Friday, I was still in Mesa and just wasn't where I needed to be mentally to go into work. Yesterday it was back to Mesa for the radiologist appointment, so finally, after 7 days, I put my head back in the game and returned to work today. I have to admit, it felt good to wake up with something on my mind besides the cancer.
My team is absolutely amazing! Before I left last Monday, we brainstormed the major projects that needed to be completed or worked on so we didn't fall behind. My team dug in and never missed a beat. All of the projects progressed as scheduled. They even completely cleaned and organized the warehouse and it looks amazing. In reality, they admitted they were glad I wasn't there for that one because they could do it they way they wanted. They did great.
Because it has been such a challenging year for me personally, I have missed more work since April than I've missed in 18.5 years when back in 1994 I was put to bed due to pregnancy complications with Brooklyn. Thank you Carol, Bryan, Stephanie, Duane, Paul, and Galina. You have been the best support ever.
Despite my wonderful co-workers, it's hard not to feel very guilty about missing so much work. I looked at the calendar and realized I only have 8.5 work days left before the surgery. Then, if I'm out for a week following surgery, I may only have about 13 work days before starting radiation. Luckily, because of the type of work I do, I am hoping to be able to do some work during radiation, but here I go getting WAY ahead of myself again trying to plan and control something entirely out of my control, so I'll stop.
Despite my guilt about missing so much work, I love my job, and returning to it is part of what is keeping me sane. It is another way of keeping the normalcy in my life. There is just so much to do as I start working it down--T-minus 17 days and counting!
Monday, November 12, 2012
Patience is a Virtue......
11/12/12--Monday--Day 30--More Information, More Waiting
I spent the weekend escaping reality and getting things at home in better order. Brookie and I went grocery shopping Saturday morning, something we desperately needed to do, and we all three went to see the new James Bond movie, Skyfall. Sunday, Brooklyn and I went to church, again, something desperately needed, and then I cleaned the house, also desperately needed. Most of the weekend I completely ignored the cancer issue, consciously anyway. I decided not to blog because I wasn't thinking of this area of my life. Interestingly, however, I had trouble sleeping both nights. When my body finally settled down, my mind subconsciously began to race. I guess there is something to be said about writing, journaling, blogging, doing something to get your subconscious thoughts out of your head and onto paper.
After spending our first weekend at home, maybe since September, today brought another trip to Mesa, this time to see the radiology oncologist. Like Dr. Byrum, Dr. Grade showed genuine concern, true compassion, and amazing patience and understanding. SHE (batting two for two on female doctors) took as much time with us as we needed. She stayed patient and made us feel like every question we asked was one worthy of much thought and a thorough answer. Dr. Grade's job included making sure we completely understood radiation treatment as well as the differences between the lumpectomy/radiation treatment verses the mastectomy/no radiation treatment. We asked what seemed like a hundred questions, some about radiation, but many about the whole breast cancer situation and potential outcomes. We learned a ton! My biggest fear about radiation was eliminated. If I were to get cancer later in life somewhere else, I thought radiation would no longer be an option. I was relieved to find that you can have radiation again, only not in the same area. This was a HUGE relief.
As for the effects of radiation, Dr. Grade explained there is some fatigue. She also said the skin will get red, almost like a sunburn, and may even peal like a burn. That will be temporary and eventually go away. The skin may thicken as well and feel hard. How long that lasts is different for each patient. For some it is temporary; for other it is not. The radiation will need to be started after four weeks but before six weeks following surgery. On the calendar, that puts us right around January 2, an interesting way to bring in the new year.
As for the "chemo pill" which I may have to take for five years, we learned it is not chemo at all. Instead, it is hormone therapy, but different than what the regular person takes for menopause. It is a drug that attaches itself to cancer cells and prevents them from absorbing estrogen and therefore prevents the cancer cells from growing. The pill is called Tamoxifen, and will only work if the cancer they find is estrogen-fed, which they suspect it will be at this point.
When it was all said and done, between these first two appointments, we talked about a lot of possibilities. What really surfaced is the fact that until they get the cancer removed and the pathologists analyse it, we really are just guessing at what will be next. What we know now is we have to do the surgery, and we have chosen the lumpectomy/radiation treatment. Once the lumpectomy is done, the next step will be radiation if the cancer is shown not to be invasive. If this is the case, the cancer will be considered stage 0. If the pathologists find the cancer is invasive, because of the size of the lump, it will skip stage 1 and be considered stage 2 or higher. That is when chemotherapy may need to precede radiation.
No matter how many questions I ask, how much research I do, or how many people I talk to, what it has come down to is I am not in control of anything other than the choice between the two treatments, which I made today. Now it is just a matter of time and patience as we wait for the surgery and then the pathology report to dictate my next step in this journey. And while patience has never been my forte, it is going to be part of my life and this journey.
I spent the weekend escaping reality and getting things at home in better order. Brookie and I went grocery shopping Saturday morning, something we desperately needed to do, and we all three went to see the new James Bond movie, Skyfall. Sunday, Brooklyn and I went to church, again, something desperately needed, and then I cleaned the house, also desperately needed. Most of the weekend I completely ignored the cancer issue, consciously anyway. I decided not to blog because I wasn't thinking of this area of my life. Interestingly, however, I had trouble sleeping both nights. When my body finally settled down, my mind subconsciously began to race. I guess there is something to be said about writing, journaling, blogging, doing something to get your subconscious thoughts out of your head and onto paper.
After spending our first weekend at home, maybe since September, today brought another trip to Mesa, this time to see the radiology oncologist. Like Dr. Byrum, Dr. Grade showed genuine concern, true compassion, and amazing patience and understanding. SHE (batting two for two on female doctors) took as much time with us as we needed. She stayed patient and made us feel like every question we asked was one worthy of much thought and a thorough answer. Dr. Grade's job included making sure we completely understood radiation treatment as well as the differences between the lumpectomy/radiation treatment verses the mastectomy/no radiation treatment. We asked what seemed like a hundred questions, some about radiation, but many about the whole breast cancer situation and potential outcomes. We learned a ton! My biggest fear about radiation was eliminated. If I were to get cancer later in life somewhere else, I thought radiation would no longer be an option. I was relieved to find that you can have radiation again, only not in the same area. This was a HUGE relief.
As for the effects of radiation, Dr. Grade explained there is some fatigue. She also said the skin will get red, almost like a sunburn, and may even peal like a burn. That will be temporary and eventually go away. The skin may thicken as well and feel hard. How long that lasts is different for each patient. For some it is temporary; for other it is not. The radiation will need to be started after four weeks but before six weeks following surgery. On the calendar, that puts us right around January 2, an interesting way to bring in the new year.
As for the "chemo pill" which I may have to take for five years, we learned it is not chemo at all. Instead, it is hormone therapy, but different than what the regular person takes for menopause. It is a drug that attaches itself to cancer cells and prevents them from absorbing estrogen and therefore prevents the cancer cells from growing. The pill is called Tamoxifen, and will only work if the cancer they find is estrogen-fed, which they suspect it will be at this point.
When it was all said and done, between these first two appointments, we talked about a lot of possibilities. What really surfaced is the fact that until they get the cancer removed and the pathologists analyse it, we really are just guessing at what will be next. What we know now is we have to do the surgery, and we have chosen the lumpectomy/radiation treatment. Once the lumpectomy is done, the next step will be radiation if the cancer is shown not to be invasive. If this is the case, the cancer will be considered stage 0. If the pathologists find the cancer is invasive, because of the size of the lump, it will skip stage 1 and be considered stage 2 or higher. That is when chemotherapy may need to precede radiation.
No matter how many questions I ask, how much research I do, or how many people I talk to, what it has come down to is I am not in control of anything other than the choice between the two treatments, which I made today. Now it is just a matter of time and patience as we wait for the surgery and then the pathology report to dictate my next step in this journey. And while patience has never been my forte, it is going to be part of my life and this journey.
Friday, November 9, 2012
The Comfort of Home.......
11/9/12--Friday--Day 27--Whew...Home, For a Few Days
It was super nice to come back home this afternoon after being in Phoenix since Tuesday. I had planned to work at least half of the day, but strangely, I realized my brain just wasn't snapping the way it should. I kept making crazy, absent-minded mistakes, so I just decided to hang out a few hours with Trina before she flew out, and take it easy for the rest of the day while Brooklyn and I drove home.
We are scheduled to see the radiologist oncologist on Monday so guess it will be back to Phoenix. She will discuss the six weeks of radiation treatment that will come once I recover from surgery So far we have been told it will be daily for six weeks, so looks like I will be relocating to Phoenix maybe at the first of the year.
Emotionally I'm sort of in a strange place right now. I'm super relieved the news isn't as bad as we first anticipated--no mastectomy, no anticipated hair loss. A lumpectomy is much better than a mastectomy! But at the same time, it becomes easy to think this is no big deal. Don't get me wrong; I want to stay very positive, yet in doing so, it's easy to treat this like a pimple that just needs to get popped out.
Last night Trina, Brooklyn, Preston, Yuri and I went to dinner then to see a movie. We all needed a little comic relief and an escape from reality and a movie was the perfect place to do that. Just as we walked in to the theater, I stopped at the drinking fountain and took a drink. As I stood back up and walked toward the doors, Trina said, "You're not going to be able to do that kind of stuff anymore you know." "Do what," I asked. "Drink from drinking fountains," she answered. I was completely perplexed. What in the heck was she talking about. Brooklyn must have read the confusion on my face. "Germs, mom. You can't expose yourself to germs like that," she said. Since Brooklyn moved to Idaho to live with Trina, she has been part of Trina's mom's struggle for survival on a daily basis. Bonnie, Trina's mom, lives with Trina and had bone marrow transplant. Even knowing that, Trina's statement completely shocked me. Once we were seated in the theater, I explained to Trina, "I'm not as sick as your mom is. She had leukemia. My cancer isn't like that." That is when Trina said the words that took me back. "You are in a fight for your life, Susan. Cancer is cancer. It weakens your immune system. Your body is using everything it can to fight against your cancer. You can't afford to get sick, be exposed to sick people, or be exposed to germs, especially after you start your treatment." Wow, I thought, but she was right. By oversimplifying the treatment of my cancer, I had begun to minimize it to myself.
When I dropped Trina off with the people who flew her down, I learned the wife of the pilot helped a friend go through breast cancer. She explained some of her experiences and suddenly the germ thing surfaced again. She talked about how her friend had to throw away her make up and buy fresh makeup only using Qtips to apply it and never double dipping. She told of how the radiation changed her skin and she became more sensitive to many things that never bothered her before. She talked about hand sanitizers, shampooing carpets, and staying away from anyone who was sick.
Sitting in that theater, and then again much of today, I began to think about some of the simple things I probably should start doing to minimize my exposure to germs. No more sharing a sip of my drink with my kids or quickly hand washing a dish and leaving it to drain. Washing hands should be even more of a priority as well as avoiding people who are even a little sick. I probably should even clean my house and my office before I leave for surgery. While I won't obsess over the germ thing, it did bring a whole new reality to how I enjoy the comforts of home.
It was super nice to come back home this afternoon after being in Phoenix since Tuesday. I had planned to work at least half of the day, but strangely, I realized my brain just wasn't snapping the way it should. I kept making crazy, absent-minded mistakes, so I just decided to hang out a few hours with Trina before she flew out, and take it easy for the rest of the day while Brooklyn and I drove home.
We are scheduled to see the radiologist oncologist on Monday so guess it will be back to Phoenix. She will discuss the six weeks of radiation treatment that will come once I recover from surgery So far we have been told it will be daily for six weeks, so looks like I will be relocating to Phoenix maybe at the first of the year.
Emotionally I'm sort of in a strange place right now. I'm super relieved the news isn't as bad as we first anticipated--no mastectomy, no anticipated hair loss. A lumpectomy is much better than a mastectomy! But at the same time, it becomes easy to think this is no big deal. Don't get me wrong; I want to stay very positive, yet in doing so, it's easy to treat this like a pimple that just needs to get popped out.
Last night Trina, Brooklyn, Preston, Yuri and I went to dinner then to see a movie. We all needed a little comic relief and an escape from reality and a movie was the perfect place to do that. Just as we walked in to the theater, I stopped at the drinking fountain and took a drink. As I stood back up and walked toward the doors, Trina said, "You're not going to be able to do that kind of stuff anymore you know." "Do what," I asked. "Drink from drinking fountains," she answered. I was completely perplexed. What in the heck was she talking about. Brooklyn must have read the confusion on my face. "Germs, mom. You can't expose yourself to germs like that," she said. Since Brooklyn moved to Idaho to live with Trina, she has been part of Trina's mom's struggle for survival on a daily basis. Bonnie, Trina's mom, lives with Trina and had bone marrow transplant. Even knowing that, Trina's statement completely shocked me. Once we were seated in the theater, I explained to Trina, "I'm not as sick as your mom is. She had leukemia. My cancer isn't like that." That is when Trina said the words that took me back. "You are in a fight for your life, Susan. Cancer is cancer. It weakens your immune system. Your body is using everything it can to fight against your cancer. You can't afford to get sick, be exposed to sick people, or be exposed to germs, especially after you start your treatment." Wow, I thought, but she was right. By oversimplifying the treatment of my cancer, I had begun to minimize it to myself.
When I dropped Trina off with the people who flew her down, I learned the wife of the pilot helped a friend go through breast cancer. She explained some of her experiences and suddenly the germ thing surfaced again. She talked about how her friend had to throw away her make up and buy fresh makeup only using Qtips to apply it and never double dipping. She told of how the radiation changed her skin and she became more sensitive to many things that never bothered her before. She talked about hand sanitizers, shampooing carpets, and staying away from anyone who was sick.
Sitting in that theater, and then again much of today, I began to think about some of the simple things I probably should start doing to minimize my exposure to germs. No more sharing a sip of my drink with my kids or quickly hand washing a dish and leaving it to drain. Washing hands should be even more of a priority as well as avoiding people who are even a little sick. I probably should even clean my house and my office before I leave for surgery. While I won't obsess over the germ thing, it did bring a whole new reality to how I enjoy the comforts of home.
The Ball Starts Rolling........
11/8/12--Thursday--Day 26--Being the Patient
Today I found myself sitting in a place I never imaged being doing something I never imaged doing. But there I was, my first day as a cancer patient. Though Greg wasn't there, Trina and Brooklyn stood by my side as we walked into the cancer center to do labs. It really wasn't a big deal--blood work, EKG, chest xray--standard procedures before going into any surgery. And the MD Anderson Cancer Center is amazing. It is beautiful. The people are all so friendly, super understanding, and very helpful. There was barely any wait time.
After my initial tour from Dale, the volunteer from the other day, I knew where the lab was so I didn't stop at the information desk. I was now a cancer patient so I figured I should act like I knew where I was going and what was going on. First we did the blood work. I knew what to expect for that, except for the sticky labels. There they were again--a printout of who I am converted into barcodes on labels repeated over and over. A nice gentleman called me back and I sat in the lab chair as he took a label and carefully secured it around each of the little vials that were about to contain my blood. "Do they test my blood to see if the cancer is in other places in my body?" I asked. "Oh, no. A test like that is very expensive. This checks your white count, platelets and the thickness of your blood," he assuringly answered. "Where is your cancer?" I was surprised he didn't already know. "I have breast cancer," I said surprisingly confident. He shook his head as if to reaffirm what I said and then offered in return, "My mother is being seen here for breast cancer right now. She's always surprised how busy we are." "I guess that's job security for you," I said as I smiled. "Yea, but I would rather change careers," he replied. He was great at his job. I didn't even feel the pinch as the needle went in then he connected vial after vial, each with my unique identifying label. When we were finished, he escorted me back to the waiting area.
As we waited for the next technician, Brooklyn went to the car to retrieve her iPad, anticipating a long wait as we made our way through the next two steps. Trina asked me how early I was going to head back to Safford in the morning to make it to work. A sudden sense of carelessness rose up inside of me and my emotions got the best of me. My tears began to well up, "I don't know if I'm even going to go to work tomorrow. Right now I just don't care." I knew it was wrong. It was self-pity rising up and I had to beat it down, but I was emotionally on overload from this disheartening year. First my toe surgery went wrong, and I developed RSD, a rare, crazy disease which required trips to Tucson every other day for shots. I still can't wear heals after six months. Then losing my mother drained me emotionally. God how I wish she was there with me at that moment. And now cancer. "I think I would handle this better emotionally if I wasn't already so drained this year," I told Trina, but then immediately felt stupid for saying that to her. Here is the woman whose whole life has been turned upside down for almost a year and a half as she has been the main caregiver for her mother who is battling cancer and had a bone marrow transplant. Any suffering I've done pales in comparison to what Trina has faced. She has lost countless family members to cancer, including her own dad, but she just keeps hanging in there with a positive attitude. Then there is my friend Paula who is truly in a battle for her life against cancer. I have yet to see her feel sorry for herself. These friends would be my constant reminders that there is no room for self-pity.
It wasn't long before the EKG technician called me back. It took her longer to hook up the cords than to do the test. From there we moved up to the second floor to wait for the chest xray. As we walked down the hall, Brookie on my right and Trina on my left, we must have looked like three women ready to kick some butt. A man in his thirties was smiling as he was coming from the opposite direction. As we passed, he said, "OH, YAY!" We all three started laughing and then realized he was laughing at the shirts. That morning, Brooklyn surprised me with shirts she bought for everyone on my "support team". They were black t-shirts with different sayings. Hers said, "Think Pink" but Trina's shirt most likely elicited the comment from the stranger. Hers said, "Got Boobies? Get Checked." We laughed as we made our way down to the end of the hall.
The chest xray was easy. It took longer to get undressed than to do the xray. I asked her if they were going to do a full body scan to see if I had any signs of cancer anywhere else. She explained that may come later, after surgery, after they test what they take out. As she walked me back down the hall, she explained that I would be seeing her again throughout the treatment. I thanked her as I left.
Earlier that morning, the schedulers called while I was still in Cottonwood. They confirmed my surgery for Nov. 30th, a pre-op appointment for the 27th, and it looks like I'll be back on Monday to meet my new radiologist oncologist. And with today, the ball starts rolling.
Today I found myself sitting in a place I never imaged being doing something I never imaged doing. But there I was, my first day as a cancer patient. Though Greg wasn't there, Trina and Brooklyn stood by my side as we walked into the cancer center to do labs. It really wasn't a big deal--blood work, EKG, chest xray--standard procedures before going into any surgery. And the MD Anderson Cancer Center is amazing. It is beautiful. The people are all so friendly, super understanding, and very helpful. There was barely any wait time.
After my initial tour from Dale, the volunteer from the other day, I knew where the lab was so I didn't stop at the information desk. I was now a cancer patient so I figured I should act like I knew where I was going and what was going on. First we did the blood work. I knew what to expect for that, except for the sticky labels. There they were again--a printout of who I am converted into barcodes on labels repeated over and over. A nice gentleman called me back and I sat in the lab chair as he took a label and carefully secured it around each of the little vials that were about to contain my blood. "Do they test my blood to see if the cancer is in other places in my body?" I asked. "Oh, no. A test like that is very expensive. This checks your white count, platelets and the thickness of your blood," he assuringly answered. "Where is your cancer?" I was surprised he didn't already know. "I have breast cancer," I said surprisingly confident. He shook his head as if to reaffirm what I said and then offered in return, "My mother is being seen here for breast cancer right now. She's always surprised how busy we are." "I guess that's job security for you," I said as I smiled. "Yea, but I would rather change careers," he replied. He was great at his job. I didn't even feel the pinch as the needle went in then he connected vial after vial, each with my unique identifying label. When we were finished, he escorted me back to the waiting area.
As we waited for the next technician, Brooklyn went to the car to retrieve her iPad, anticipating a long wait as we made our way through the next two steps. Trina asked me how early I was going to head back to Safford in the morning to make it to work. A sudden sense of carelessness rose up inside of me and my emotions got the best of me. My tears began to well up, "I don't know if I'm even going to go to work tomorrow. Right now I just don't care." I knew it was wrong. It was self-pity rising up and I had to beat it down, but I was emotionally on overload from this disheartening year. First my toe surgery went wrong, and I developed RSD, a rare, crazy disease which required trips to Tucson every other day for shots. I still can't wear heals after six months. Then losing my mother drained me emotionally. God how I wish she was there with me at that moment. And now cancer. "I think I would handle this better emotionally if I wasn't already so drained this year," I told Trina, but then immediately felt stupid for saying that to her. Here is the woman whose whole life has been turned upside down for almost a year and a half as she has been the main caregiver for her mother who is battling cancer and had a bone marrow transplant. Any suffering I've done pales in comparison to what Trina has faced. She has lost countless family members to cancer, including her own dad, but she just keeps hanging in there with a positive attitude. Then there is my friend Paula who is truly in a battle for her life against cancer. I have yet to see her feel sorry for herself. These friends would be my constant reminders that there is no room for self-pity.
It wasn't long before the EKG technician called me back. It took her longer to hook up the cords than to do the test. From there we moved up to the second floor to wait for the chest xray. As we walked down the hall, Brookie on my right and Trina on my left, we must have looked like three women ready to kick some butt. A man in his thirties was smiling as he was coming from the opposite direction. As we passed, he said, "OH, YAY!" We all three started laughing and then realized he was laughing at the shirts. That morning, Brooklyn surprised me with shirts she bought for everyone on my "support team". They were black t-shirts with different sayings. Hers said, "Think Pink" but Trina's shirt most likely elicited the comment from the stranger. Hers said, "Got Boobies? Get Checked." We laughed as we made our way down to the end of the hall.
The chest xray was easy. It took longer to get undressed than to do the xray. I asked her if they were going to do a full body scan to see if I had any signs of cancer anywhere else. She explained that may come later, after surgery, after they test what they take out. As she walked me back down the hall, she explained that I would be seeing her again throughout the treatment. I thanked her as I left.
Earlier that morning, the schedulers called while I was still in Cottonwood. They confirmed my surgery for Nov. 30th, a pre-op appointment for the 27th, and it looks like I'll be back on Monday to meet my new radiologist oncologist. And with today, the ball starts rolling.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Counting My Blessings......
11/7/12--Wednesday--Day 25--Understanding
This morning I woke up feeling very grateful. I realized that without my amazing doctor in Safford, everything could have gone undetected and grown to a stage that would have made my treatment options much worse. How many doctors have said, "well, let's watch it and see if it changes." Instead, my doctor took even the smallest lump seriously, settled for nothing less than the absolute answers through thorough testing, and because of that, I am in the early stages of cancer rather than the later stages.
My mom has been with me through this as well. The feeling I had inside, that little twitch, the voice telling me to feel for something I honestly believe was my mother. I believe she spoke to me that morning on Oct. 14 sitting at my vanity and planted that seed in my mind, that desire to feel something that was barely there. And I believe she has been watching out for me ever since. When I called my doctor who it takes months to see, but I was able to get in the very next day. When the surgeon's schedule was completely booked for the week, but they found a way to squeeze me in the very next day. When all of my fears of losing my breast were minimized to a lumpectomy because of early detection. I know she is my guardian angel and fighting like crazy for me as I face this challenge. And I know she is proud of me and has faith in me that I can beat this.
I am also blessed to have amazing friends who have showered me with support. Today Trina flew to Arizona. She had an opportunity to come, and even though the surgery won't be right now, she knew I needed a friend. I have been strong for everyone else, but I am scared. Even though the diagnosis is better than we first thought, it is still cancer, and it is still growing inside of me, and I still am facing surgery, radiation, and a light version of chemo. Trina has been through cancer with her dad and is now going through it with her mom. She has lived a nightmare much worse than what I am facing. Her strength, support and love means the world to me and I'm so glad she is here, even for a few short days.
I am also thankful for my children. Brooklyn flew in early for her fall break with Trina so she could be here to support me. Having her home is going to be wonderful. I've missed her a ton and just feeling her with me has made this day much better. Preston has let us stay at his apartment and take his bed night after night. He has been great to talk to and lean on and I know he will continue to there to help us.
Tonight I am in Cottonwood with my dad, Brooklyn, and Trina. There was a Hospice Memorial where my mom and others were honored. I am so blessed that the timing worked out so that Brooklyn and Trina could both be here with my dad and me. The program was wonderful and included a candle lighting ceremony set to the most amazing song, Tonight I Hold A Candle. I know my mom is looking down on me, on us, and she is going to see me through this, protecting me as if she were here holding my hand. I have so very many blessing to count.
This morning I woke up feeling very grateful. I realized that without my amazing doctor in Safford, everything could have gone undetected and grown to a stage that would have made my treatment options much worse. How many doctors have said, "well, let's watch it and see if it changes." Instead, my doctor took even the smallest lump seriously, settled for nothing less than the absolute answers through thorough testing, and because of that, I am in the early stages of cancer rather than the later stages.
My mom has been with me through this as well. The feeling I had inside, that little twitch, the voice telling me to feel for something I honestly believe was my mother. I believe she spoke to me that morning on Oct. 14 sitting at my vanity and planted that seed in my mind, that desire to feel something that was barely there. And I believe she has been watching out for me ever since. When I called my doctor who it takes months to see, but I was able to get in the very next day. When the surgeon's schedule was completely booked for the week, but they found a way to squeeze me in the very next day. When all of my fears of losing my breast were minimized to a lumpectomy because of early detection. I know she is my guardian angel and fighting like crazy for me as I face this challenge. And I know she is proud of me and has faith in me that I can beat this.
I am also blessed to have amazing friends who have showered me with support. Today Trina flew to Arizona. She had an opportunity to come, and even though the surgery won't be right now, she knew I needed a friend. I have been strong for everyone else, but I am scared. Even though the diagnosis is better than we first thought, it is still cancer, and it is still growing inside of me, and I still am facing surgery, radiation, and a light version of chemo. Trina has been through cancer with her dad and is now going through it with her mom. She has lived a nightmare much worse than what I am facing. Her strength, support and love means the world to me and I'm so glad she is here, even for a few short days.
I am also thankful for my children. Brooklyn flew in early for her fall break with Trina so she could be here to support me. Having her home is going to be wonderful. I've missed her a ton and just feeling her with me has made this day much better. Preston has let us stay at his apartment and take his bed night after night. He has been great to talk to and lean on and I know he will continue to there to help us.
Tonight I am in Cottonwood with my dad, Brooklyn, and Trina. There was a Hospice Memorial where my mom and others were honored. I am so blessed that the timing worked out so that Brooklyn and Trina could both be here with my dad and me. The program was wonderful and included a candle lighting ceremony set to the most amazing song, Tonight I Hold A Candle. I know my mom is looking down on me, on us, and she is going to see me through this, protecting me as if she were here holding my hand. I have so very many blessing to count.
Can It Be True......
11/6/12--Tuesday--Day 24--Never Lose Faith
I woke up at 6:15. Three hours sleep. That was going to be tough. We decided to hot tub because who knew when the next time I might be able to again. I got ready and piddled around doing every unimportant task. I dusted, cleaned the toilets, watered the plants. I was originally planning on working the half of a day in the morning. I had a presentation at a meeting, but I was so unable to focus that I called Carol and I decided not to go in. I changed the laundry, added cat and dog food to the bins, looked for a presents to take to Cottonwood. This is dumb. Just go on to Mesa. As we left the house, tears welled up again. I am really going to face this today. Maybe if I got in a car accident, all of this would go away. I'd wake up from this nightmare because other parts of me would be broken instead.
We drove two cars to Mesa so I could go on to Cottonwood to my mom's hospice memorial after the appointment today and Greg could come back home. I was alone. It was quiet. I had three hours to process what was about to happen, the truth I was about to face. God and I had a very long conversation in between phone calls from friends to reassure me, but today was real, once again.
Coming in to town, Melissa, Dr. Byrum's assistant, called and said we could come in early because the appointment before mine had cancelled. Great. I'd rather get this over. We drove into the Cancer Center at 2:00. It was a beautiful facility. As we walked in, a big metal tree covered with all colors of ribbons loomed in the entrance. Was this going to be part of my new life? I was now one of "those people" who are symbolized with ribbons on trees, squares on quilts, names on walls. I was now a cancer patient. Gosh this all seemed so surreal.
The new patient receptionist had no idea why we had come so early. No one knew who had called me. No one from Dr. Byrums office knew. Okay, I'll sit here. No biggie. Finally, we were taken through door number one--payment processing. We followed Abbe into cubby number four. Insurance card, driver's license, emergency contact, "do you have a living will and power of attorney?" She had a whole roll of labels with my name and information printed on them. Each piece of paper I signed had my personalized label carefully placed on it. As we finished, she handed me a blue welcome packet with my sticky label on it and extra Susan labels inside. She called for a volunteer to escort us up to Dr. Bryum's office. An escort? Really? Dale, a nice man probably in his seventies, probably a cancer survivor came to take us. He gave us a tour on the way. "Down there is radiology. All the lab work is down here on the left. We have a library with lots of information on all types of cancer. The bistro is open until 3:30" We got in the elevator. "Floor two are the doctors offices. Floor three is infusion." "Infusion?" I asked. His look of compassion and understanding that I was a newbie cancer patient was obvious. "Chemotherapy." "Oh," I said as I had my first cancer lesson.
When we got off the elevator, the floor looked more like a conference center or shopping mall than doctors offices. Every few tables there were puzzles half built. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over a rock garden. Dale introduced me to Dr. Byrum's receptionist. She didn't know why I was early either. As we sat down to wait, Dale handed me a paper. "Here is the bio on your doctor. Good luck." I looked at Dr. Byrum's picture and started reading. Board certified. UofA graduate. Practicing since 2007. 2007? Oh my gosh. That's only five years. Panic set in. I began texting Paula, who recommended her. "Are you kidding? She's only been practicing for five years." I pasted the text to Trina, then to Peggy. Peggy used to be the administrative assistant for the head of banner health. She pulled her up and started reporting. "She did a great residency, no complaints about her, 100% of her patients recommend her." Then she got inside information. "Gateway medical staff director had her sister go to Dr. Byrum. And she is 39. Stop panicing."
The nurse came out shortly and took us back. She weighed me then took my blood pressure. It was 154 over 90. I always have really, really low blood pressure. She asked if I was nervous (duh) and thought maybe we should retake it after I took a couple of deep breaths. 129 over 70. I suggested she take Greg's. 159 over 94, lol. Guess he was nervous too.
In the exam room, a nurse came in to take our information. We explained much of what our doctor back in Safford had told us, and she started to see the urgency we were feeling about surgery. I explained how the lump had grown in three weeks. She left me a gown to put on and said the doctors would be in after they looked at the images. We waited what seemed like forever. Dr. Byrum's assistant came in. The words that came out of her mouth were comforting and we suddenly realized this may not be as bad as we thought. She began going over the biopsy report with us explaining this was DCIS which was a really early stage of cancer. When Dr. Byrum came in, she said we did need to have surgery, but there was no need to rush into it this week.
Greg and I just looked at each other is total disbelief. What was she saying? Nothing was making sense. She examined my breast. She picked up this book and started reviewing graphics of the breast and explaining what happens during breast surgery. She explained she didn't want to schedule surgery until I saw a radiologist oncologist. He needed to explain the radiation treatment and make sure I knew what was going to happen. I also needed to get chest x-rays, scans, and blood work done first.
When it was all out on the table, our horrible news was still bad, but was so much better than we had originally feared. Yes, I had to have surgery. Yes, I had to have radiation. Yes, I would have something like chemo, but it was an estrogen blocker in the form of a pill that I would take for the next five years. It doesn't cause hair loss (yay).
NEW DIAGNOSIS:
Surgery tentatively scheduled for Nov. 30th
Would be a lumpectomy about the size of a golf ball and they would also take a lymphoid
Outpatient surgery
They would make two insistions one about 4cm
After about four weeks of healing, I would start radiation. It would be five days a week for six weeks and would be done there at their facility.
This cancer has been caught early enough that it is the earlier stages of cancer, but it is still cancer. On a scale of one to ten, it is a four.
The pill I would have to take for five years would put me in to menopause (oh joy), but is necessary.
Wow, talk about prayers working. This is still bad, but it is so much better than what we were thinking. This is doable. I won't lose my hair. Most likely no mastectomy. Scar would be about four cm long. I was so grateful.
It was dark when we finally left the building. Dr. Byrum had spent several hours with us reviewing how this was going to work. We sat in the parking lot relieved for the first time. I texted those who had been waiting on a report. Sitting in that parking lot, I heard a huge sigh of relief echo as many prayers had been answered.
I woke up at 6:15. Three hours sleep. That was going to be tough. We decided to hot tub because who knew when the next time I might be able to again. I got ready and piddled around doing every unimportant task. I dusted, cleaned the toilets, watered the plants. I was originally planning on working the half of a day in the morning. I had a presentation at a meeting, but I was so unable to focus that I called Carol and I decided not to go in. I changed the laundry, added cat and dog food to the bins, looked for a presents to take to Cottonwood. This is dumb. Just go on to Mesa. As we left the house, tears welled up again. I am really going to face this today. Maybe if I got in a car accident, all of this would go away. I'd wake up from this nightmare because other parts of me would be broken instead.
We drove two cars to Mesa so I could go on to Cottonwood to my mom's hospice memorial after the appointment today and Greg could come back home. I was alone. It was quiet. I had three hours to process what was about to happen, the truth I was about to face. God and I had a very long conversation in between phone calls from friends to reassure me, but today was real, once again.
Coming in to town, Melissa, Dr. Byrum's assistant, called and said we could come in early because the appointment before mine had cancelled. Great. I'd rather get this over. We drove into the Cancer Center at 2:00. It was a beautiful facility. As we walked in, a big metal tree covered with all colors of ribbons loomed in the entrance. Was this going to be part of my new life? I was now one of "those people" who are symbolized with ribbons on trees, squares on quilts, names on walls. I was now a cancer patient. Gosh this all seemed so surreal.
The new patient receptionist had no idea why we had come so early. No one knew who had called me. No one from Dr. Byrums office knew. Okay, I'll sit here. No biggie. Finally, we were taken through door number one--payment processing. We followed Abbe into cubby number four. Insurance card, driver's license, emergency contact, "do you have a living will and power of attorney?" She had a whole roll of labels with my name and information printed on them. Each piece of paper I signed had my personalized label carefully placed on it. As we finished, she handed me a blue welcome packet with my sticky label on it and extra Susan labels inside. She called for a volunteer to escort us up to Dr. Bryum's office. An escort? Really? Dale, a nice man probably in his seventies, probably a cancer survivor came to take us. He gave us a tour on the way. "Down there is radiology. All the lab work is down here on the left. We have a library with lots of information on all types of cancer. The bistro is open until 3:30" We got in the elevator. "Floor two are the doctors offices. Floor three is infusion." "Infusion?" I asked. His look of compassion and understanding that I was a newbie cancer patient was obvious. "Chemotherapy." "Oh," I said as I had my first cancer lesson.
When we got off the elevator, the floor looked more like a conference center or shopping mall than doctors offices. Every few tables there were puzzles half built. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over a rock garden. Dale introduced me to Dr. Byrum's receptionist. She didn't know why I was early either. As we sat down to wait, Dale handed me a paper. "Here is the bio on your doctor. Good luck." I looked at Dr. Byrum's picture and started reading. Board certified. UofA graduate. Practicing since 2007. 2007? Oh my gosh. That's only five years. Panic set in. I began texting Paula, who recommended her. "Are you kidding? She's only been practicing for five years." I pasted the text to Trina, then to Peggy. Peggy used to be the administrative assistant for the head of banner health. She pulled her up and started reporting. "She did a great residency, no complaints about her, 100% of her patients recommend her." Then she got inside information. "Gateway medical staff director had her sister go to Dr. Byrum. And she is 39. Stop panicing."
The nurse came out shortly and took us back. She weighed me then took my blood pressure. It was 154 over 90. I always have really, really low blood pressure. She asked if I was nervous (duh) and thought maybe we should retake it after I took a couple of deep breaths. 129 over 70. I suggested she take Greg's. 159 over 94, lol. Guess he was nervous too.
In the exam room, a nurse came in to take our information. We explained much of what our doctor back in Safford had told us, and she started to see the urgency we were feeling about surgery. I explained how the lump had grown in three weeks. She left me a gown to put on and said the doctors would be in after they looked at the images. We waited what seemed like forever. Dr. Byrum's assistant came in. The words that came out of her mouth were comforting and we suddenly realized this may not be as bad as we thought. She began going over the biopsy report with us explaining this was DCIS which was a really early stage of cancer. When Dr. Byrum came in, she said we did need to have surgery, but there was no need to rush into it this week.
Greg and I just looked at each other is total disbelief. What was she saying? Nothing was making sense. She examined my breast. She picked up this book and started reviewing graphics of the breast and explaining what happens during breast surgery. She explained she didn't want to schedule surgery until I saw a radiologist oncologist. He needed to explain the radiation treatment and make sure I knew what was going to happen. I also needed to get chest x-rays, scans, and blood work done first.
When it was all out on the table, our horrible news was still bad, but was so much better than we had originally feared. Yes, I had to have surgery. Yes, I had to have radiation. Yes, I would have something like chemo, but it was an estrogen blocker in the form of a pill that I would take for the next five years. It doesn't cause hair loss (yay).
NEW DIAGNOSIS:
Surgery tentatively scheduled for Nov. 30th
Would be a lumpectomy about the size of a golf ball and they would also take a lymphoid
Outpatient surgery
They would make two insistions one about 4cm
After about four weeks of healing, I would start radiation. It would be five days a week for six weeks and would be done there at their facility.
This cancer has been caught early enough that it is the earlier stages of cancer, but it is still cancer. On a scale of one to ten, it is a four.
The pill I would have to take for five years would put me in to menopause (oh joy), but is necessary.
Wow, talk about prayers working. This is still bad, but it is so much better than what we were thinking. This is doable. I won't lose my hair. Most likely no mastectomy. Scar would be about four cm long. I was so grateful.
It was dark when we finally left the building. Dr. Byrum had spent several hours with us reviewing how this was going to work. We sat in the parking lot relieved for the first time. I texted those who had been waiting on a report. Sitting in that parking lot, I heard a huge sigh of relief echo as many prayers had been answered.
Tell Me More.......
11/5/12--Monday Night--Blogging????
When I walked in the house I was exhausted. Too much talking all day. Too much trying to be "on" for everyone else. I was proud though. I was proud that I stayed strong. Everyone took their cues from me and it made for a great day. The people whom I knew cared about me now knew. It was out in the open. I hadn't broken down as I announced it. Now I could focus on the matter at hand. Wait, now I HAD TO focus on the cancer. Maybe I shouldn't be so relived. All of a sudden what I thought seemed like the hardest part didn't seem so hard now that it was over. The reality of what I would face tomorrow set in. I should clean. Brookie was coming home and Trina would be with her. Mike and Suzie would be here. My house was a mess. We hadn't been home enough to even shop.
The phone rang. It was Sharon. Then Brookie. After her, Trina. Then Mike. Finally Peggy. Half way through my conversation with Peggy, I realized I had told her most of this on Saturday. Wow. This was going to be a mess. I loved that my friends were there. I wanted them by me to share in this. But how was i going to keep straight all the information and whom i told what?
Greg was busy trying to catch up on his work in his office. Panic about tomorrow set in. Again. Okay maybe I should get started on that Blog. I've never Blogged. This was probably stupid but I decided to sit down and look at it.
After a few clicks here and there, I began from the beginning. "October 14--Sunday--Day 1." Before I knew it, my computer chimmed "it's 11 o'clock." I should be sleeping. I would in just a few minutes. Greg came in. He was going to bed. "I'll be there in just a few minutes. I just want to finish this first part." He knew better. I couldn't stop "blogging." Though I knew I should be sleeping, all the words just kept spilling out of my heart onto the screen. I literally couldn't type fast enough. It was probably the first time I had been completely honest about this whole thing. No more flip attitude. No more, "it will all be okay" or "this wasn't a big deal." It was reality and tomorrow I knew this was all going to be too real. "It's 3 o'clock." Dang. I'm only up to Friday night. I have to get some sleep.
When I walked in the house I was exhausted. Too much talking all day. Too much trying to be "on" for everyone else. I was proud though. I was proud that I stayed strong. Everyone took their cues from me and it made for a great day. The people whom I knew cared about me now knew. It was out in the open. I hadn't broken down as I announced it. Now I could focus on the matter at hand. Wait, now I HAD TO focus on the cancer. Maybe I shouldn't be so relived. All of a sudden what I thought seemed like the hardest part didn't seem so hard now that it was over. The reality of what I would face tomorrow set in. I should clean. Brookie was coming home and Trina would be with her. Mike and Suzie would be here. My house was a mess. We hadn't been home enough to even shop.
The phone rang. It was Sharon. Then Brookie. After her, Trina. Then Mike. Finally Peggy. Half way through my conversation with Peggy, I realized I had told her most of this on Saturday. Wow. This was going to be a mess. I loved that my friends were there. I wanted them by me to share in this. But how was i going to keep straight all the information and whom i told what?
Greg was busy trying to catch up on his work in his office. Panic about tomorrow set in. Again. Okay maybe I should get started on that Blog. I've never Blogged. This was probably stupid but I decided to sit down and look at it.
After a few clicks here and there, I began from the beginning. "October 14--Sunday--Day 1." Before I knew it, my computer chimmed "it's 11 o'clock." I should be sleeping. I would in just a few minutes. Greg came in. He was going to bed. "I'll be there in just a few minutes. I just want to finish this first part." He knew better. I couldn't stop "blogging." Though I knew I should be sleeping, all the words just kept spilling out of my heart onto the screen. I literally couldn't type fast enough. It was probably the first time I had been completely honest about this whole thing. No more flip attitude. No more, "it will all be okay" or "this wasn't a big deal." It was reality and tomorrow I knew this was all going to be too real. "It's 3 o'clock." Dang. I'm only up to Friday night. I have to get some sleep.
Taking a Different Spin........
11/5/12--Monday--Day 23--The Chemo Diet
I spent many hours thinking about how I was going to tell my team. I learned a lot over the weekend. Keep it short, use humor, be direct, portray a positive attitude. But how would I do it? The answer came to me that morning. First, we would celebrate Galina's return. She had been out having a baby and this would be her first day back. Then I would make the announcement. We would be limited on how much time we had because the district office staff was celebrating birthdays that morning. That would be perfect. Happy news, sad news, celebration of birthdays.
But what words was I going to use. I knew I had to keep it light-hearted. I didn't want my team to see me cry. Out of nowhere, it came to me. I would tell them I had been struggling with my weight and had found a new diet to try--the chemo diet. I told Greg about my idea. He thought it was a terrible idea. He was pretty depressed after yesterday and did not see the humor in what I was doing. I told him I had to use humor. It would help me stay strong as I told them.
I had planned a team meeting at 8, but was delayed because the MD Anderson Cancer Center intake office was calling. I was worried I would run out of time. Finally by 8:30 I was headed into the office. Thirty minutes before birthdays. Perfect. Everything went as planned. First we gave Galina her baby gifts. Then I moved on to the subject at hand. "You know I've been struggling with my weight for awhile, so I've decided to try a new diet, the chemo diet. I was diagnosed with breast cancer on Friday afternoon." There. I said it. This time as I said it, I faced six shocked faces. Carol broke down and cried. I saw the hurt and disbelief in Bryan's eyes. I immediately began reassuring them with humor using the wig colors thing etc. It seemed to ease the news a bit and it became easier for me when I saw a few smiles. The more I talked about it, the more they seemed at ease. I was so glad. I wanted to keep my team confident and strong and let them know I would get through this and so would they.
Now I just had two more groups to go. We moved into the lounge to celebrate birthdays. I kept my smile on and talked like it was just an ordinary day. Toward the end, I asked Dr. T, Tim, Henry and Gail if I could talk with them for just a few minutes. After the group broke up, they all came to my office and I closed the door. I told them I felt like they all cared for me as a person, so I wanted to share this with them face-to-face. As soon as I told them I had breast cancer, my voice started to crack up and I began to get teary eyed. It was the first time I didn't use a humorous approach, and it choked me up so I immediately threw in humor with the wigs. I swallowed my lump and was able to continue.
I was proud of myself for being strong in both announcements. My last work announcement went via an e-mail to the administrators. Again I employed the power of humor to keep it light. Most importantly, I told them I wanted them to know so there wouldn't be awkwardness when they saw me and they would know it was okay to ask me about my cancer. I felt so good after telling all three groups. Now the people I felt cared about me in my work environment all knew, and no one would wonder if I knew they knew. We all knew. And another weight was lifted off my shoulders.
Lunchtime
I had let most of my family know over the weekend, but still needed to let Greg's dad and sister know. We decided to tell them out at the office at lunch. Greg asked them to come for different reasons and I met them there. I took the direct approach again and the surprise in their eyes was common for me now. It was the same reaction of disbelief and shock. There were immediate questions, who diagnosed it, what will they do, what are the options. I reassured them we would get through this. We hugged and I was back to work. Again, I had a final relief that the story had been told.
How Can We Tell Them.........
11/3/12--Saturday Evening--Day 21--The First Announcement
Our plan was to practice on Paul and Diane. If we were going to tell the kids in the morning, we had better start by practicing telling someone. We had told Mike and Suzie as well as Trina after returning from the doctor's office the night before, but they had been going through each step with us. Plus, we had told them over the phone. This would be our first "announcement" of the C word in person. We figured Diane was a nurse and an incredible listener. She has always been a source of comfort for both of us. Plus, maybe she could shed some light on all of this.
When we were finally alone after dinner, we sat in their van and I started. I took an upbeat approach with a good tone of voice and after a short introduction of how we valued them as friends, I said it for the first time. "On Friday afternoon I was diagnosed with breast cancer." I'll never forget the shock on their faces and the sudden sadness that filled their eyes. It broke my heart, but I wanted to reassure them that it was going to be fine. That I was going to be fine. I made a joke out of the possibility of losing my hair so I could wear different colored wigs and Greg could decide if he liked blondes, redheads, or brunettes better. They smiled and the mood lightened a bit. I continued to say humorous comments pretending I was good with this and convinced I was going to beat this. The more I said it, the more I started to believe it myself. Toward the end of our conversation, I became a little teary eyed and hiding behind that strong wall was getting harder. They were starting to see through it. They knew us too well. When it was over, I told them we had to practice on them and they laughed. But really, it made a huge difference. I learned not to talk about it too long; I learned to keep it upbeat and a little humorous; I learned they took their cues from my attitude. I was so glad I practiced on them.
11/4/12--Sunday--Day 22--Spreading the News
Trina had helped us plan a time to get Brooklyn on Facetime Sunday morning. She was in Idaho, but I didn't want her to feel alone or be alone when we told her. It was important to us that we told both kids at the same time. We didn't want either of them to feel alienated. We would make sure Trina was with Brookie, and Yuri, Preston's girlfriend, was at the apartment so when we left, he wouldn't be alone. Telling the kids was the hardest thing yet. While I tried to keep it upbeat, I couldn't stop some of the tears from escaping. They both took it very well. I know they were in shock. They were going to need some time to let that one sink in. Brooklyn's voice quivered and squeaked a bit, but she held it together. Preston stood silent beside me the whole time holding my hand. His eyes watered, but he stayed strong. I was so proud of both of them. We had raised them to be strong, and they were strong.
I was so relieved after telling the kids. It was like a huge weight had lifted off my shoulders. And, it had gone better than I expected. We headed to Cottonwood to tell my dad next. I was worried about how to tell him we were coming without making him suspicious that bad news was headed his way. First I texted to see if he was home. Yes. I decided to tell him we were bringing KFC up for lunch since his chicken place closed. He said okay. Hmmm, was he suspicious? Had he realized I was lying to him the other day?
As we drove the hour and a half to Cottonwood, I kept thinking how sad I was to be delivering this bag of bad news to people. 2012 had not been a good year, and here I was adding to everyone's sorrow, especially my dad's. I wondered how I going to tell my dad. Losing my mom in July has been so hard on him. I had been his rock since then, and now his rock was going to turn mushy.
When we pulled up to his house, I took a deep breath, put on my normal Susan smile, and walked in like nothing was wrong. Then I began avoiding. We ate lunch and talked around eight different subjects. I knew our time was short. It was already afternoon. I had planned to call my sister and aunts while at my dad's before heading back down to Phoenix to tell my grandmother. Greg was anxious and worried about time. I still had a lot of bad news to spread. I needed to get it out. I finally took another deep breath and told him we needed to talk about something. I said the words quickly this time and stumbled right into the next sentence, almost as if that would leave no room for a tear. I saw the disappointment on his face so I immediately started reassuring him. I told him I was going to be okay and that I knew mom was my guardian angel up there fighting for me.
I felt like I was getting better at this. With each announcement, each conversation, all the bad things didn't seem as bad. Cancer, chemo, radiation, mastectomy, losing my hair, it all seems to be sinking in as almost acceptable now. Talking about it was helping. Telling the story over and over was making it better for me. We Facetimed with my Aunt Rita in California, my mother's sister. We called my sister. We called my Aunt Mary, my dad's sister in Mesa. The story was taking less and less time to tell. Each listener was encouraged by my upbeat approach, and sadness and scariness gave way to hopefulness and faith by the end of each conversation.
One more stop before heading home. We had to tell my grandma. My grandma is my inspiration. She is 99 years old and amazing. She lives in Mesa with my Aunt Mary and looks and acts more like a 75 year old. She was recently diagnosed with cancer and has been taking radiation for a few weeks now but you would never know it. She has shown little side effects and her attitude has continued to be perky as ever. We drove back down to Mesa and went inside the house. My words were almost well-rehearsed at this point. After having some dessert, something grandma's always insist on, I shared my news. While tears filled her eyes, she told me she knew I would be ok and I would get through this. I knew, for the first time so far, she was right. I would. And I would use her strength as my inspiration.
We were home after nine, but it was done. All of the people I really needed to tell in person were told. Now I just had to face the announcement at work tomorrow.
Maybe It's Not Real........
11/3/12--Saturday--Day 21--Pretending
We woke up hoping this was all a dream and would go away. We headed to Phoenix for Preston's ballroom dance competition at ASU knowing we needed to tell the kids. It was finally time. There was no denying the evidence. And we didn't want them to not trust us in the future. While we didn't have all of the details of how or when, we knew there was going to be surgery and soon. We knew there was probably going to be radiation and/or chemo. Most importantly, we knew we had cancer.
We drove most of the way in silence--probably more in disbelief. "It's not fair. You shouldn't have to go through this," Greg would blurt out breaking the silence. While it was easy to think we were so unlucky, how could we say that. We had two wonderful kids who got through high school without drinking, smoking, doing drugs or getting pregnant. They earned great grades and were both in college doing well. We had a nice house, nice vehicles and amazing friends. We were financially able to travel and do fun things on the weekends. We both had great jobs that we loved doing. We weren't unlucky. This just happened.
We decided it wasn't good to tell Preston before his competition, so Sunday would be the day. When we saw him at the dance competition, we pretended everything was normal. We had a good time watching him and his girlfriend and dance partner, Yuri, but I could see Greg was dying inside. He doesn't have a good poker face. I was praying Preston didn't ask what was wrong with dad.
We left at five and headed to see our good friends, Paul and Diane. Paul's band was opening for a nationally known group and we were excited for him. Besides, it was nice pretending our life was still normal. When we arrived, Paul was already on stage so we hung out with Diane. After being there ten minutes, Diane asked, "What's up with Greg?" I shrugged it off. She has always been incredible at reading people. I was doing great keeping up a good front, but poor Greg just was beside himself. Diane asked again. I laughed and joked that she should stop reading us. We had to keep up the facade until we had some time alone with them. We had to keep pretending.
We woke up hoping this was all a dream and would go away. We headed to Phoenix for Preston's ballroom dance competition at ASU knowing we needed to tell the kids. It was finally time. There was no denying the evidence. And we didn't want them to not trust us in the future. While we didn't have all of the details of how or when, we knew there was going to be surgery and soon. We knew there was probably going to be radiation and/or chemo. Most importantly, we knew we had cancer.
We drove most of the way in silence--probably more in disbelief. "It's not fair. You shouldn't have to go through this," Greg would blurt out breaking the silence. While it was easy to think we were so unlucky, how could we say that. We had two wonderful kids who got through high school without drinking, smoking, doing drugs or getting pregnant. They earned great grades and were both in college doing well. We had a nice house, nice vehicles and amazing friends. We were financially able to travel and do fun things on the weekends. We both had great jobs that we loved doing. We weren't unlucky. This just happened.
We decided it wasn't good to tell Preston before his competition, so Sunday would be the day. When we saw him at the dance competition, we pretended everything was normal. We had a good time watching him and his girlfriend and dance partner, Yuri, but I could see Greg was dying inside. He doesn't have a good poker face. I was praying Preston didn't ask what was wrong with dad.
We left at five and headed to see our good friends, Paul and Diane. Paul's band was opening for a nationally known group and we were excited for him. Besides, it was nice pretending our life was still normal. When we arrived, Paul was already on stage so we hung out with Diane. After being there ten minutes, Diane asked, "What's up with Greg?" I shrugged it off. She has always been incredible at reading people. I was doing great keeping up a good front, but poor Greg just was beside himself. Diane asked again. I laughed and joked that she should stop reading us. We had to keep up the facade until we had some time alone with them. We had to keep pretending.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
The Diagnosis......
11/2/12--Friday--Day 20--The Diagnosis
3:15 pm Greg asked if I wanted him to come pick me up. I told him no. I would come home. How was I going to get out of there? I texted Charlene and told her the results, "It's cancer." She immediately texted back, "What kind?" I looked at my page on the computer, "Ductal Carcinoma In Situ" I typed. She immediately sent me the names of the two doctors with whom she wanted me to call and get an appointment. "How do I start? Who do I call first?" She explained that I needed to call the cancer center and make appointments with first the surgeon then the breast oncologist. I was so confused. Why would I be calling a surgeon first? Why two doctors? I felt so lost. What now. I texted my doctor and asked if there was any way Greg and I could go to her office and see her. She texted back, of course and told me to come down after 5.
3:30 pm I hadn't shared any of this with very many people, but a few select friends had been waiting for the results. Mike and Suzie had known since I first scheduled the mammogram. I texted Mike, "Just got my result's. It's cancer." Oh my gosh. Had I just sent that? I copied it and pasted it to Paula. Send. I pasted it to Susie Case. Send. I pasted it to Wanda. Send. What was I doing? Stop. You can't just tell people you have cancer in a text message. I had to get out of there. I scooted out of my office telling my secretary I had an important call come in and I had to leave to take care of some business. I avoided eye contact and hoped she didn't realize I was upset.
On the drive home I called Trina, my best friend in Idaho. I choked up again and could barely say it, "It's cancer. I have breast cancer." She cried with me on the short drive home. I couldn't really do anything else. When I walked in the door at home, Greg met me and hugged me. "I can't believe it. It doesn't make sense," he said. We went into the living room and collapsed on the couch in disbelief. We sat there in a crazy, disbelieving, shocked state not having any idea what this meant, what to do from here.
5:00 pm We drove to the clinic and went inside. I visited with the receptionist like nothing was wrong. Greg sat in silence. They took us in to the exam room and the doctor came in shortly. She hugged me and welled up with tears. We have known our doctor since Greg's mom was alive. She lived across the street back in 1998. She watched our kids grow up. She hugged Greg. She pulled out a copy of the report and started going over it word by word and explaining each part of it. The reality was really setting in. "Yes, I'm 100% sure you will have surgery. And I'll be highly concerned if you aren't in surgery by the end of next week," she said. What? Are you kidding? Hang on a minute. Shouldn't I see a cancer doctor first? We haven't even discussed all the different options! Then we began to realize, there aren't different options. I had a horrible, wretched, destructive poison in my body that had to come out. Right away. First thing. No waiting. Then there was going to be radiation and chemotherapy. Really? You mean I'm going to have to have surgery, then still have those horrible things? Oh my gosh. This is bad. Really, really bad.
7:00 pm Our doctor spend and hour and a half with us. We cried together. She explained the steps--what was going to happen next. She helped us understand the urgency. She felt my lump. It had become hard. And it had grown. How had it grown? It had barely been three weeks. But it had. And I knew it had. It was now the length of my finger and ran from the areola straight up at the 12 o'clock position. Then it was no longer a J, but more like an L with the leg of it running from my areola toward my armpit about the length from my nail to my nuckle. It had definitely grown. We left her office after it was dark. We had a much better understanding of what was coming next, but were still in complete shock. We sat in the car in the parking lot for another 30 minutes. We just couldn't move. How were we going to do this?
3:15 pm Greg asked if I wanted him to come pick me up. I told him no. I would come home. How was I going to get out of there? I texted Charlene and told her the results, "It's cancer." She immediately texted back, "What kind?" I looked at my page on the computer, "Ductal Carcinoma In Situ" I typed. She immediately sent me the names of the two doctors with whom she wanted me to call and get an appointment. "How do I start? Who do I call first?" She explained that I needed to call the cancer center and make appointments with first the surgeon then the breast oncologist. I was so confused. Why would I be calling a surgeon first? Why two doctors? I felt so lost. What now. I texted my doctor and asked if there was any way Greg and I could go to her office and see her. She texted back, of course and told me to come down after 5.
3:30 pm I hadn't shared any of this with very many people, but a few select friends had been waiting for the results. Mike and Suzie had known since I first scheduled the mammogram. I texted Mike, "Just got my result's. It's cancer." Oh my gosh. Had I just sent that? I copied it and pasted it to Paula. Send. I pasted it to Susie Case. Send. I pasted it to Wanda. Send. What was I doing? Stop. You can't just tell people you have cancer in a text message. I had to get out of there. I scooted out of my office telling my secretary I had an important call come in and I had to leave to take care of some business. I avoided eye contact and hoped she didn't realize I was upset.
On the drive home I called Trina, my best friend in Idaho. I choked up again and could barely say it, "It's cancer. I have breast cancer." She cried with me on the short drive home. I couldn't really do anything else. When I walked in the door at home, Greg met me and hugged me. "I can't believe it. It doesn't make sense," he said. We went into the living room and collapsed on the couch in disbelief. We sat there in a crazy, disbelieving, shocked state not having any idea what this meant, what to do from here.
5:00 pm We drove to the clinic and went inside. I visited with the receptionist like nothing was wrong. Greg sat in silence. They took us in to the exam room and the doctor came in shortly. She hugged me and welled up with tears. We have known our doctor since Greg's mom was alive. She lived across the street back in 1998. She watched our kids grow up. She hugged Greg. She pulled out a copy of the report and started going over it word by word and explaining each part of it. The reality was really setting in. "Yes, I'm 100% sure you will have surgery. And I'll be highly concerned if you aren't in surgery by the end of next week," she said. What? Are you kidding? Hang on a minute. Shouldn't I see a cancer doctor first? We haven't even discussed all the different options! Then we began to realize, there aren't different options. I had a horrible, wretched, destructive poison in my body that had to come out. Right away. First thing. No waiting. Then there was going to be radiation and chemotherapy. Really? You mean I'm going to have to have surgery, then still have those horrible things? Oh my gosh. This is bad. Really, really bad.
7:00 pm Our doctor spend and hour and a half with us. We cried together. She explained the steps--what was going to happen next. She helped us understand the urgency. She felt my lump. It had become hard. And it had grown. How had it grown? It had barely been three weeks. But it had. And I knew it had. It was now the length of my finger and ran from the areola straight up at the 12 o'clock position. Then it was no longer a J, but more like an L with the leg of it running from my areola toward my armpit about the length from my nail to my nuckle. It had definitely grown. We left her office after it was dark. We had a much better understanding of what was coming next, but were still in complete shock. We sat in the car in the parking lot for another 30 minutes. We just couldn't move. How were we going to do this?
It Gets Real.......
10/31/12--Wednesday--Day 18--Whew...It's Over
Wednesday I was relieved to be back at work. My breast was a bit bruised, but it was over. My results would be back that day or the next, and we would be done. I wondered what they do with a cyst? I'm sure they just leave it there and watch it in the future. Oh well.
11/1/12--Thursday--Day 19--Strange
Hmmm. Kind of strange that I haven't received a call. Thought for sure I would. They were probably busy. No, wait. The radiologist said they had actually been getting results out within a day or two recently. That's odd. I finally decided to call the imaging center. Nope, nothing in the computer. Will probably be put in before tomorrow.
11/2/12--Friday--Day 20--The News
It was almost noon and I had not heard a thing. I called the imaging center again. Nope, no results in the system yet. Holy cow! I didn't want to go the weekend without this thing resolved. I had to find out something.
No one at my office knew anything about any of this. No need to worry anyone over nothing. But I had to make some calls. I had to find out something. I went down the hallway and ducked into the testing room. I called Charlene, Wanda's daughter who had worked at Banner hospitals for 30 years. She gave me an inside number to call the pathology lab directly and find out which doctor had my case on his/her desk. She then explained how they do the testing. Tuesday the sample would have sat in solution to firm up then it would have gone into a machine overnight. Wednesday it would have been sliced and read. If they found something, they would put a different dye on it, let it sit overnight. Thursday, if what they found the day before was confirmed, they would dye it again to type what kind of whatever it was and let it sit overnight again. That would lead to Friday. This was Friday.
When I called the lab, they put me on hold, then came back and said they should be faxing the results to my primary care doctor in just a few minutes. Finally...thank goodness. I texted my doctor. I hoped she didn't mind. She did tell me I could use that number at any time along the way. I told her the results should be on their way shortly. She assured me she would call me and to call her back at 3 if I hadn't heard from her. Finally, some relief. What a hard day it had been. I began to review in my head what Charlene had said earlier about the process. I wondered if having to wait this many days might mean something bad. I texted Charlene. "They are supposed to fax results to my primary care physician. Thank you. I'm glad I called." "Good," she replied. Let me know how you are." I exited the testing room to find Gail, the superintendent's secretary, and Stephanie, my secretary looking for me and a bit perplexed when I come out of that room. "I just needed to make a phone call where it wouldn't be loud and I wouldn't be interrupted," I tried to explain.
After I got back from lunch, around 2, I called my doctor's office. Yes, they had the results. They would make sure the doctor knew they were in. I text Charlene and update her. She texted back, "Are you by yourself?" "I'm at work," I told her. "I'll go to my car to take the call," I texted. That's odd. Wonder why she said that. I text her again, "Timing wise, would you predict good or bad results? Be honest." I read her reply and my heart dropped a bit, "I would say it is positive for something..." I thanked her. At 3 my phone rang. It was the doctor. Thank goodness! Finally! I got up and close the door. Carol was already gone, so that was good.
I wish I could remember exactly what she said. It just quickly ran into a blur. "Your biopsy report came back positive. I'm so sorry, Susan. It is cancer. They have typed it as Ductal Carcinoma In Situ..." I remember freezing for a second and tears beginning to well up in my eyes. Okay, hang on. Wait a minute. What? It's what? I opened a blank page on my computer. "Can you tell me that again? What did you called it? Can you spell it?" I typed what she said. She mentioned something about it being good because it is still in the membrane. She said something about calling and getting an appointment right away with the cancer center. She reminded me to text her or call her if I needed to and to update her with what I want to do. She could have her office get an appointment set up with them. I don't really remember everything else. I think I went into shock at that point. Oh my gosh. Wow. Really? I really, really didn't expect that. I was crying. What am I supposed to do now? I called Greg. "The doctor just called..." was all I could get out before I choked up again. He figured since I was calling him on the phone, it was a good result. "What?" I crackled out "It's cancer. It's breast cancer." "Susan, are you okay? What did you say? What were the results?" I tell him again through my tears. He asked again in disbelief.
Wednesday I was relieved to be back at work. My breast was a bit bruised, but it was over. My results would be back that day or the next, and we would be done. I wondered what they do with a cyst? I'm sure they just leave it there and watch it in the future. Oh well.
11/1/12--Thursday--Day 19--Strange
Hmmm. Kind of strange that I haven't received a call. Thought for sure I would. They were probably busy. No, wait. The radiologist said they had actually been getting results out within a day or two recently. That's odd. I finally decided to call the imaging center. Nope, nothing in the computer. Will probably be put in before tomorrow.
11/2/12--Friday--Day 20--The News
It was almost noon and I had not heard a thing. I called the imaging center again. Nope, no results in the system yet. Holy cow! I didn't want to go the weekend without this thing resolved. I had to find out something.
No one at my office knew anything about any of this. No need to worry anyone over nothing. But I had to make some calls. I had to find out something. I went down the hallway and ducked into the testing room. I called Charlene, Wanda's daughter who had worked at Banner hospitals for 30 years. She gave me an inside number to call the pathology lab directly and find out which doctor had my case on his/her desk. She then explained how they do the testing. Tuesday the sample would have sat in solution to firm up then it would have gone into a machine overnight. Wednesday it would have been sliced and read. If they found something, they would put a different dye on it, let it sit overnight. Thursday, if what they found the day before was confirmed, they would dye it again to type what kind of whatever it was and let it sit overnight again. That would lead to Friday. This was Friday.
When I called the lab, they put me on hold, then came back and said they should be faxing the results to my primary care doctor in just a few minutes. Finally...thank goodness. I texted my doctor. I hoped she didn't mind. She did tell me I could use that number at any time along the way. I told her the results should be on their way shortly. She assured me she would call me and to call her back at 3 if I hadn't heard from her. Finally, some relief. What a hard day it had been. I began to review in my head what Charlene had said earlier about the process. I wondered if having to wait this many days might mean something bad. I texted Charlene. "They are supposed to fax results to my primary care physician. Thank you. I'm glad I called." "Good," she replied. Let me know how you are." I exited the testing room to find Gail, the superintendent's secretary, and Stephanie, my secretary looking for me and a bit perplexed when I come out of that room. "I just needed to make a phone call where it wouldn't be loud and I wouldn't be interrupted," I tried to explain.
After I got back from lunch, around 2, I called my doctor's office. Yes, they had the results. They would make sure the doctor knew they were in. I text Charlene and update her. She texted back, "Are you by yourself?" "I'm at work," I told her. "I'll go to my car to take the call," I texted. That's odd. Wonder why she said that. I text her again, "Timing wise, would you predict good or bad results? Be honest." I read her reply and my heart dropped a bit, "I would say it is positive for something..." I thanked her. At 3 my phone rang. It was the doctor. Thank goodness! Finally! I got up and close the door. Carol was already gone, so that was good.
I wish I could remember exactly what she said. It just quickly ran into a blur. "Your biopsy report came back positive. I'm so sorry, Susan. It is cancer. They have typed it as Ductal Carcinoma In Situ..." I remember freezing for a second and tears beginning to well up in my eyes. Okay, hang on. Wait a minute. What? It's what? I opened a blank page on my computer. "Can you tell me that again? What did you called it? Can you spell it?" I typed what she said. She mentioned something about it being good because it is still in the membrane. She said something about calling and getting an appointment right away with the cancer center. She reminded me to text her or call her if I needed to and to update her with what I want to do. She could have her office get an appointment set up with them. I don't really remember everything else. I think I went into shock at that point. Oh my gosh. Wow. Really? I really, really didn't expect that. I was crying. What am I supposed to do now? I called Greg. "The doctor just called..." was all I could get out before I choked up again. He figured since I was calling him on the phone, it was a good result. "What?" I crackled out "It's cancer. It's breast cancer." "Susan, are you okay? What did you say? What were the results?" I tell him again through my tears. He asked again in disbelief.
Pulling It Off........
10/29/12--Monday--Day 16--My First Lie
For those of you who know me, you know I just don't lie--like, ever. But I also didn't want to worry anyone unnecessarily, and since I knew this was really nothing big, I didn't really want to share it. It was, after all, my breast--kind of personal! I felt bad getting all that helpful information from Paula, and not being honest with her, especially after calling her mom. So on Saturday night when we were in Philadelphia and I was laying awake again at midnight, I texted Paula and confessed. She assured me I was doing the right thing getting it checked, but also that it probably wasn't a bid deal and I'd be fine.
So I could explain staying in Phoenix Monday because we had a Monday Night Football game to attend, but Tuesday was going to be a trick. And, how was I going to make all these arrangements Monday morning without anyone finding out? We were staying at Preston's apartment (my son) and of course, he didn't have classes that morning. I took the dog for a walk and got all set up with the MD Anderson Center for a 7:30 appointment the next day. BUT.... They had to have the images from Safford that day, or I couldn't keep that appointment for the next morning. Wow, how was I going to pull that off? I called the only person I knew who might be able to help me without anyone else finding out, Susie Case. I told her what I needed and asked if there was any way she could get the CD from the hospital then drive to Globe and meet us. And, oh yea, not to tell anyone anything. She agreed. She rearranged her scheduled, and was off to Globe in no time. I kept Preston busy shopping and told him his dad had to run some errands and we would meet up later. Greg picked up the CD in Globe and delivered it to the imaging center, then we were off to the game. Whew. We would finally settle this thing in the morning and it would all be done.
10/30/12--Tuesday--Day 17--The Biopsy and One More Lie
Just one more lie. We left Preston's telling him I had to get to work. We had Sierra, our dog, because Preston had dogsat while we were in New York. Hmmmm, now what. Greg offered to wait in the car with the dog, but I wanted him to go in with me. My dad was at my Aunt Mary's house helping with my grandma. It was just a few miles away. I called my dad and told him we had a few errands to run on our way out of town, and could be please leave the dog there for a couple of hours. Of course. On the way there, I realized he had Find Friend on his iPhone and could possibly see me at the hospital. When we got to the house, I told him I was going to see Paula who was having a treatment that morning. Gosh, this was awful. I should not lie to my dad. But I couldn't have him worry. This was nothing, after all. I'll confess after I get the results and this whole thing is for nothing.
The MD Anderson Center was great. Super nice ladies. I felt completely at ease except that Greg couldn't come in the procedure with me. The radiology technician came in and explained everything. She did the first ultrasound and had similar looks of confusion on her face. She finally got a pen and told me she was going to make a mark on my breast to help the doctor. The radiologist came in. He kept moving the wand around and pushing. He asked the technician to try. They see it, but it's hard to see the edges. They finally settled on a spot where they are happy and the radiologist slipped the needle in. He numbed me and immediately put in the biopsy needle. I didn't even feel the pinch for the numbing medicine. Before I knew it, it was over. Wow, that was no big deal. I knew this wasn't anything. Now it was done and this whole silliness was over.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Starting to Get a Bit Complicated........
10/22/12--Monday--Day 9--Mammogram and Ultrasound
By now the bump seemed to have changed shapes. It was the size of a small lime, but more elongated and had a small hook, almost like a J. I leave the office to head for my appointment. My co-worker, Carol, asks is everything ok? She realized that was two doctors appointments in a week. I reassure her that nothing is wrong. Just checking a few things and I head out the door. The mammogram was first. It showed dense tissue so we needed the ultrasound. The ultrasound guy had a tough time imaging it. I could see by the concentration on his face, and his head shaking in between moving the wand thingy. I finally asked what was going on. He said he was just having trouble mapping it. "Is it a cyst?" "No, but it's hard to tell what it is. It's different than anything I've seen. It's dense, but just sort of weird." Hmmm. Well, guess that was good. If it was cancer, he would have seen that before.
10/25/12--Thursday--Day 12--Radiologist Report
As soon as we stepped off the plane in New York, I received this text message, "Susan, This is Dr. XYZ. Please call me back when you can. This # OK." Wow, hmmm, that's kind of strange. At the curb waiting for a cab I called back. She told me she received the radiologist's report back and there is definitely something there that we need to check out a little better. We needed to do a biopsy. It's still probably nothing, but we need to be sure. I told her I would prefer to do the biopsy in Phoenix at a place that specializes in this kind of stuff, just in case. Figured we would set it up for next Thursday when I returned to Phoenix.
It's midnight and I can't really sleep. I have no idea where to even start on finding a place to do a biopsy. Wait, yes I do. I have a good friend, Paula, who has been fighting a battle with cancer. Wonder where she was going. And today is her birthday, well in New York anyway. I can text her Happy Birthday and see if I can screen out some information without her knowing why I'm asking. After a bit, sure enough, she asks if I'm OK. I avoid that question and change the subject. No reason to let anyone know since this isn't really a big deal, but wow, Paula was great. I learned a ton and know I want to go to the MD Anderson Cancer Center for the biopsy.
10/26/12--Friday--Day 13--Hurricane Sandy
The doctor's office calls to set up an appointment. They said Mayo Clinic won't take my insurance, which I am glad now, so I tell them I want to go to the MD Anderson Cancer Center. Before long, they called back and said they take my insurance and we can make arrangements on Monday, but they will send the CD images through the mail on Monday and we should be set for a Thursday appointment.
After texting with Paula, I decided to call her mom, Wanda, who has also had a bout with breast cancer. Wanda knew me as a child and was my mom's best friend. Since I couldn't call me mom, I knew she would be the next best thing and would talk to me, but not panic. I told her I had a lump, and that it's probably nothing, but I didn't want my dad to know. She reassured me I was going to the right place to get it checked out. She told me who her doctors were, and that her other daughter, Charlene, worked there for many years and would be willing to help with anything she could. And while I felt a little better finally telling someone, I heard in Wanda's tone that this could be bad. Maybe I had told her it was bigger than it really was. Maybe I had mis-conveyed information. Was it really the size of a small lime--that's what seemed to make her gasp a little. I felt my breast again--yea, it was about the size of a small lime, but longer now. Was it changing? Surely it couldn't be. Why was she worried? She didn't say she was worried. It's probably all fine. I'm making too much of this.
Of course by midnight, Hurricane Sandy has cancelled my conference in Atlantic City, and we were now flying home early Sunday. Guess I'll call Monday and figure it all out.
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