Stage I of my cancer: Being scared shitless.
My diagnosis with cancer was not the scariest part, it was waiting for all the test results and all the what-ifs. I will ask for forgiveness for my crassness in the description of my fear but saying that my bowels were spic and span for days just does not cover it. That was about seven months ago.
The day before Thanksgiving 2009, I finally went to see my OB/GYN; after weeks of ignoring my husbands pleas.
The lump in my left breast had none of the symptoms of a malignancy (as the med-web sites notified me.) My doctor checks it out telling me the same things: no fever on the spot, no redness, no deformity; only my complaint that it hurt like hell.
Now what lead to the prior event mentioned?
My husband notices this lump on underside of my left breast. I brush it off as it is the same on the other one. Well the other side was not the same. I then labeled it a infected mammary gland, since I had stopped breast-feeding our 7-month-old a few months prior. But my denial became a sinking feeling in my gut as the lump started to become uncomfortable physically. Then, I thought I would stealthily scour medical web sites to ensure my self-diagnosis was viable. But the pain from the lump became more unbearable every day, so much so that I could not pick up my children. When the pain started pissing me off, it also started to worry my husband. Finally after a week of hearing me answer “no” his barrage of “did you call the doctor?;” My spouse took me by the shoulders, looked me square in the eyes and pleaded with me to make the call!
Back to that day before Thanksgiving…My doctor was not sure how much luck we were going to have getting images but she makes the call while I am in her office. Just so happens they had an opening as soon as I could get there. What I find the most humorous about my visit to my doctor was my odd attempt to tell my doctor it was nothing. She gives me a prescription for an antibody for my “in case it is an infection” and off I go for pictures.
I make it to the imaging center in about 10 minutes (I swear I wasn’t speeding it was only a few miles away.) Paperwork, prepping for my first mammogram, the mammogram, the waiting and then on to the ultrasound. As a mother of three I have had my share of ultrasounds, this was the first time I did not want to watch the monitor’s abstract-like black and white forms. I ask if they see anything, after what seemed like five hours of silence (probably 15 minutes.) I get the I-am-not-the-doctor-I-just-take-the-pictures answer. My non-answer and the technician’s trip to get the doctor made the icy room feel thick with an aura of doom. I suddenly felt short of breath. The doctor enters with this look of pity (I know it was meant as empathy but it was not a look I am familiar with, as I avoid doctors as much as possible.) She tells me she is scheduling an MRI for the following Monday. Still no definite answers, just that it is very suspicious.
I go home to my family. My family is not just the hubby and kids. My mom, my sister, my army-wife-sister-in-law and her four kids were all there for the “festive” occasion. But my husband I agreed we would not say anything until we knew for sure. The loud, happiness of seven children running around the house, my usual excitement about all the goodies to fix and prep was overwhelmingly tainted. This day before Thanksgiving seemed like the ones I dreaded in my childhood, when I expected something bad and dramatic to occur.
Fast-forwarding to the MRI on the Monday following Turkey Day, I get a call from the imaging center that the machine is being worked on they need to reschedule for Thursday. I feel half relieved, half dread because I have to wait.
As I head home I receive another call from the imaging center. The machine is fixed, could I get there in 20 minutes.
I u-turn and head over and again filled with mixed emotions.
Now I must mention that I do not fair well with blood and needles. As part of the procedure for the MRI they put this tube, yes tube in my arm for the contrast solution. I warn the poor soul about to inject the contraption that: One, my veins are very shallow near the bend in my arm but the large bulging ones in my hand are easier to access. And, two, I may pass out on her. She looks at me with mild horror as the color had already drained from my face on seeing what she had to attach to me. Not to mention all the while, I am sitting there in an ill-fitting, front-tied hospital gown and my skivvies! So, me falling unconscious would not be a pretty sight!
After the tube was placed and a few deep breathes, I am lead to the MRI room. The technician gives me the scoop. I will be face-down in the machine and I have to stay completely motionless for 45 minutes, I could not fall asleep and no deep breathes during the eerie pulsing, whirling siren sound (aka imaging-taking.) Oddly, there was a painting I could via a mirror under me. I critiqued the subject matter, the lighting and technique and medium used. Focusing on the painting kept me calm and from concentrating on why I was in the big magnet.
After I was done I told the lady taking the MRI, the painting was a great distraction and a good idea. She said no one has ever mentioned it before it was just decoration. Only me.
On my out, I ask how long it would take to get the results. The lady informs me it would be a few days probably because there were about 2,000 images for the doctor to look at, and then he would contact my doctor. So, more waiting, just me and my fear.
The next morning (it was Tuesday), I was headed out the door around 11:00 a.m. I worked part-time and my schedule allowed me to come in after my husband came home from work. As I am hurrying to the car my cell phone beckons. It was the nurse at my OB/GYN’s office. She said my doctor had made an appointment for me to see a surgeon on Thursday. Just like that I was going to see a surgeon, but no one had told me anything yet. I wanted to know SOMETHING! My nervous questioning made the nurse go get my doctor on the phone. My doctor as gently as she could tells me that it looks like cancer. She had gotten me an appointment on such short notice because the surgeon was a friend, otherwise I would have to wait for two weeks. She continued that because of the nature of the occurrence and what the images were showing we needed to move quickly. She preps me that a biopsy was needed and the surgeon would then schedule the surgery.
The wait was over. The fright was actualized.
I walk back in the house. I say nothing as my husband asks what is wrong. As a person, who normally doesn’t show vulnerable emotion; I can’t say anything. I go sit on one of my kids little chairs in the breakfast area. I melt. I sob.
Now, Stage I of my cancer is over. I have had my moment of fear and doubt. Being scared shitless, gave me perspective. I realized that I had stop taking care of my body and it, in turn stop taking of me. I recognized that I had not only taken my body for granted but my life and all the precious people apart of it.
My ordeal with cancer was been a partly losing scenario for me. A loss of fear. A loss of control. A loss of caring about what people thought. And another perk is about 60 lbs! But those aren’t bad things to lose. Losing those things made room for courage, knowledge, love and new clothes! So losing has been my win. With adversity and hardship, character is built. Cancer is bad, but I have turned into a good thing for me. My life needed to be turned upside down and emptied out. Now I am reorganizing the things worth keeping and finding a few buried and forgotten. I remember what a wonderful man I married almost 12 years ago. I thank God for my awesome kids. I started painting again. I even started something new – writing! And I am discovering me, again.
