Stage II: The whirlwind begins.

In thirteen days, I went to see what was wrong with me, had a mammogram, ultrasound, MRI, was sent to a surgeon, he takes a biopsy the same day I meet him, diagnosed with cancer the next day and then three days later I am in the operating room. Whew.

Now only a few memories abound in this chaos:

I had to gather myself and call work, after the initial naming of cancer. I had to tell them I would be useless today.

I have the privilege of working with people who have become close friends. So, I knew this call was going to be emotional. I couldn’t reach anyone on the phone. After a few attempts, I happen to only be able to reach one of my close friends (and peer co-worker.) I try calmly just telling her to pass along I won’t be in but my voice cracks. She asks the is-everything-okay question. I break down again. And again I try to talk in between the weeping. I think she could only make out “lump” and “cancer.” Stunned silence. She finally responds but now her voice is cracking also. I can’t remember much of what was said after that.

What I remember most about meeting the surgeon is after examining me (before the biopsy;) he tells my husband and I that more than likely both breasts should be removed and later all reproductive organs as well. He lays out the worst-case scenario and asks, “Now what are you thinking?” I open my mouth but the only thing that exits my body is wet and salty from a couple of facial features above my mouth. After the doctor leaves to prep for the biopsy I look at my husband who I have never seen cry and ask what he was thinking. It was his turn for the voice cracking.

The surgeon schedules me for surgery on Monday. The biopsy results would be ready on Friday. We go over more what-ifs with what the biopsy results may show. Whether I get just the lump removed or one bump or two!

This is also the day I have to call my mom and tell her the news. I had waited to call her, in hopes I would not have to. More voice cracking.

Now, I must lighten things up and tell you some of my not-funny-at-the-time moments. After my longer-than-expected surgery, I awake in the recovery room to a nurse that was different than the lady I was with when I had been knocked out. The room (or my head was spinning), this is not a metaphor. I had to keep closing my eyes to stop the movements. Open the eyes, everything keeps moving, close them the head still floats.

The nurse then asks me to rate my pain, ten being the worst, one being the least. I tell her eight. She then pops off in a southern drawl,” Well honey, I can’t send you home with that!” I think in my spin-cycle head, “What? Do you want me to lie! This shit hurts!”

I have to back up just a bit before surgery, when they inject me with this dye to see if/where the cancer cells may have traveled from the lump the surgeon is removing. The surgeon tells me before sedation that it will show up in the lymph nodes affected and my urine may be a greenish color for a few days after.

Back to the recovery room, my “nice” nurse returns. By this time the room, and everyone and thing are blurringly bouncing instead of spinning. And the agony, while more unbearable than labor pains, is made worse with intense nausea. I can handle a lot, but when I feel the need to spew I am miserable. I tell the “nice” nurse what is going on. She is ready to check me into a room in the hospital. She tells me she is calling the surgeon. Faster than I expected, she returns and says the doctor has told her to give me something in my IV to help (she tells me what it is, but I had no clue or care really at the time, I just wanted to feel better.) If it did not work she was to put me in bed for a night at the hospital. Well, all of a sudden I feel an extraordinary warmth all over. The warmth feels it like it wants to leave via my ears. I mutter I am about to vomit. Rod had been present all the time since the “nice” nurse appeared. Both of them scramble for a container. Remember the dye I filled you in on? It was not the “greenish,” nice lime color, I had envisioned. It was Tidy-bowl green! Deep, dark, just-put-in, almost opaque green liquid expelled from my mouth! I was in poltergeist mode for about 45 seconds.

With the explosion of the toilet bowl cleaner, I feel exceeding better. I look at Rod and the “nice” nurse and say I want to go. Rod later told me it was like night and day after the IV additive and my poltergeist episode. I went from pitiful and limp to a mildly groggy person, telling him I wanted to go and standing to walk out the door. I guess the Tidy-bowl had to be flushed for the finished effect.

Life after that was spent mostly in bed propped in a sitting position, well-medicated and gingerly guarding my arms when the kids came for mommy time. Rod had to clean out this drain thing that was connected to a tube coming out of my armpit for about three weeks following surgery. I don’t cope with blood, guts and needles well at all, so this drain ordeal made me queasy every time I just looked at it. To make matters worse it was stored between the girls. I just kept my head up (literally and metaphorically.)

Now, this was not my first touch with breast cancer. Almost 20 years to the day of my own surgery I was apart of my mom’s personal battle. Watching my mom go through some of the after-affects of breast cancer/surgery, I was determined about a few things: that my range of motion with my arm would not be limited; I also, wanted to make sure I made decisions based on what I felt best for me and my family. As a single parent, I believe (and I know from discussing it with her) my mom had my well being of mind as her biggest guide. She knew she had to make decisions that would ease my doubts of losing her. It was odd this go-a-round, that I knew in part how my husband felt and what it was like in my mom’s shoes. As things panned out it seemed my ordeal was less life-threatening or so I thought at the time.

My decision to deny chemotherapy and radiation, was given a time limit. I felt it was the best for me and my family. With a clean PET scan, I felt confident with my decision; it was what I could endure. After about six months, even without any changes for the worse I agreed to do more testing. If changes, other than all the good results I was getting, started to surface; I would find out my plan B.

My six months, was really about seven, mostly because of denial on my part. But once I started to get some urging even from my alternative specialist, I visited my ob/gyn for an over due annual exam.

I started hearing a familiar sound…the whirlwind.

This time I stopped. The same scenario started and enraged me. I decided to get another perspective. I went to a Doctor of Osteopathy. I wanted an untainted opinion. And I got about 2 hours of it from a doctor who is now on my “trust” list.

Now I can’t say I did not start feeling dizzy again, but this time, I had more questions and a lot more answers!

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.

My story is not new. I am a 35-year-old woman. And I had breast cancer.

As for the title of this blog, it is a statement that has taken six months to procure. I have decided to blog my experiences in hopes that it may help others. I will try and post my journey over the next year or however long needed. My posts will be in retrospect mixed with more current events.

The twist in my story is this: I refused chemotherapy, radiation and estrogen blockers. I had a lump the size of a small bouncy ball removed from my left breast along with 23 lymph nodes. Sixteen of those lymph nodes tested as cancer-carrying. So, this mixed with my age, the amount of estrogen in my body (from recent child birth) and my being over weight; the doctors did not give me a lot of options other than chemotherapy. They strongly recommended the removal of all reproductive organs and more than likely both of the girls (that’s those mammary glands, in case you didn’t know.) I did not like their options – at all! Granted, I could survive without them, but I came into the world with them and well I am sort of attached to them (quite literally.)

The oncologist ordered a PET scan to assess the damage of the disease in my body. The drum roll for the PET scan results lasted 2 weeks. And much to the amazement of my oncologist and my surgeon, I was cancer-free! Yes, I took my miracle and ran with it. I thank God everyday for it! Please don’t assume my blog will be religious ranting, I hate religion. Now, The Big Guy and I talk on a daily basis. But He has yet to note His denomination, so we keep things out-of -the-box (but this is dangerous subject matter for another blog.)

So, what am I doing? I am on a path less travelled: Alternative Medicine.

Although, there were no masses of cancer found in my PET scan, I still had the presence of cancer cells. This meant it was still recommended for me to have chemo “just in case.” I decided I wanted a quality of life and I did not want my three small children to see their mommy weak, sick, and bald. My choice for alternative treatment was not an easy

one to make. The decision rocked my world. My closest friend, my hubby, was far from happy with it. I had to inform the company I worked for, in hopes they would keep me around on quite different scheduling terms. My lifestyle of going non-stop and high-stress had to cease. And one of the hardest changes was in my diet. I no longer consume salt or sugar. I try to have most of everything I touch, clean with or ingest to be organic. I am vegan for the most part, the exception of some occasional wild-caught fish. I, also, make and drink fresh-made (by me or hubby) juice, ten times a day.

Now, at six months down the road my health is improving greatly. My husband is my new conscience (making sure I do not veer from my treatment in any manner.) The company I work for has been extremely supportive and caring. My friends and family are amazed. I have another eighteen months left with part of my alternative therapy, during this time I will share my progress. The rest is a lifetime change.