Once upon a time, I went to the gynecologist, got a papsmere and came home with cancer. Well, not really. There's more to it than that. I don't know how detailed my ADOS is going to let me get with this but I'm just gonna let it flow. Ahhhhh, the freedom. Anyhoo....let's continue on.
Let's talk about a papsmere. Really, who wants to go strip down naked and let a stranger come look and examine all your stuff? Wait, maybe I don't want everyone to answer that. But as for myself, I do NOT find this enjoyable or ego-boosting. A necessity though that, in all honesty, I only did to get my prescription filled for the year. So I mentally went at it every year like a raging bull. Didn't think about it until appointment day. Jumped in the car and arrived promptly at said time. They call me back and I walk boldly into the room with a confident swagger and a smile. Show no fear. They tell me "Here's your gown. Please take everything off and the gown opens in the front. This goes across your lap. The doctor will be in in a minute." I'm nonchalant and gracious. "Ok, thanks," I say, as I lay my purse down. But buddy when that door closes I feel like I'm on a game show. I picture a big digital clock on the wall counting down with racing seconds. Shoes come off first while I speedily remove my clothes and grab the gown. But this is not a gown. I repeat......this is NOT A GOWN! It's a large napkin with arm holes cut out. But what a relief it is to have it on. Then I grab my clothes. They must be folded! All unmentionables must be tucked away nicely inside the pile so no one can see. And then I must hurriedly get on the table and cover my lap with the paper table cloth like they said and smooth my hair and steady my breath so I appear once again to be in complete control, as if I wasn't terrified that door was going to open 30 seconds too soon and the doctor and everyone in the hall would get a view of my full moon as I'm bent over trying to untangle myself from my pants. All this panic and madness so I can knowingly and purposefully hop up on the table, naked as a jaybird under a scott towel so this doctor (or so they say) can come in (invited mind you) and examine my everything.
It's the same story every year. I'm just older each time and more aware that things aren't necessarily where they were the year before, this part of the appointment already preempted and damaged by the fact that before they can put me through this annihilation, they must WEIGH me first.
This year's appointment fell on June 23. The race completed, the gown adorned, the underwear hidden, the doctor entered the room. Let me say, I really like my gynecologist. I've had two gynecologists in my life and both have been fabulous. The first was a man. He delivered both my children and I always knew I was in wonderful hands. The doctor I see now is a woman and I find I have just as much confidence in her. And she's "close" to my age and she's a girl so I know we have the same parts which is a plus.
The examination always begins with the breast exam. Lay back, please raise your arm above your head, they open your gown and rub your chest and everyone pretends this isn't weird or awkward. She began with the right breast. There was small talk. I went to my happy place. And then she said, "You've got something here." I said, "Huh?" She said "You have a cyst or something here. That wasn't here last year."
My response was "Oh that reminds me. I was going to have you check a spot over here" and I touched my left side. Anybody else probably would have just gone silent and held their breath until she said " Oh, nope, nevermind, it's nothing." But not me. I must have been attempting the art of distraction. "Hey, look over there!"
She said "It's probably a bone" and she felt the area on my left side I had pointed to. "Um, yeah, that's your rib" and she went back to the area she was more concerned about on the right. Still trying avoidance, I let my thoughts wander to..was I feeling smug because I'm thin enough that I confused a concerning area in my breast with a BONE or was I embarassed that my chest is so small that you can FEEL bone. All the while she's still rubbing and pressing that one area and I kind of just wanted her to stop it. Finally for lack of knowing what was expected of me at that moment, my left hand came up in slow motion and she took it and placed it on what she was feeling.
It was a lump. A definite round, ball shaped lump. "How did I miss that?" I asked. "I don't know," she said, "but I'm going to make you an appointment for a mammogram and an ultrasound. I'm sure it's just a fluid filled cyst but it's best just to make sure."
My mind was reeling. She completed the exam and moved on to Part 2. As she began the examination in my nether regions, I came around enough to say again "No, really, how did I miss that?" What? Was I Rain Man all of a sudden?
I left that day with an appointment for a mammogram and an ultrasound scheduled for the following Tuesday. I was a little in a fog but realistically, how many times have I or someone else I knew had this very moment and it's scary and then it turns out to be nothing. So I filed it away in the 'I can talk about it but not think about it file' and moved on.
The day after the mammogram and ultrasound (which I did not enjoy), I received a call that I needed a biopsy. The mammogram and ultrasound reports both stated the findings to be suspicious and a biopsy was required. I placed this in the 'file' and although it was on my mind, I was just ready to get it over with.
The biopsy was scheduled for July 14. It was an ultrasound guided needle biopsy. While watching through ultrasound, they numbed me and then by using a needle with some sort of trigger, they were able to core the lump like an apple and take a sample. Super disturbing to think about, but for me completely painless. And the people that did the biopsy were so precious. At this point, my thought process was "Man, I'm glad this part is over and I'll just be glad for them to call or for me to get the letter in the mail that says in not so many words "Hey, everything is fine. Sorry you've wasted so much time worrying and now you have all these bills to pay for no reason."
But that's not how it happened.
The next day I received a call from the surgeon's office that did the biopsy.
"Hello! How are you?" I cheerily asked the nurse practitioner I'd seen the day before.
"Oh, today hasn't been a very good day," she said.
"I'm so sorry to hear that."
"Well, I'm afraid I'm not going to make your day very good either."
"Oh. Ok," I said quietly. Now the Becky in me still wanted to be cheery and distract her and avoid whatever it was she was about to say. But I waited.
"We got your pathology results back and it's cancer."
Our conversation continued but I'm not exactly sure how I did that. I was smart enough to grab a pen and paper and just write down everything she said because although I was somehow asking questions, I was all the while, almost having an out of body experience. It seemed like I was there but I was simply listening to myself speak while that word just repeated over and over and over. Cancer cancer cancer cancer cancer.
Well, that's ridiculous. I literally thought things that I only thought people said in movies. This happens to other people. This stuff doesn't happen to me. There's just been a mistake.
But it did happen to me and there was no mistake.
I have breast cancer. Non-invasive ductal carcinoma and invasive ductal carcinoma.
Cancer. Never did I think that word would be associated with me. I couldn't even say it. I referred to it as "the ugly c-word".
August 2, with family and friends in the waiting room, I had a lumpectomy and had two lymph nodes removed. I now have two lovely scars. One under my arm that is about an inch to an inch and a half and one on my breast that is about 3 inches long. They actually don't bother me. I think of them as battle scars maybe. A physical proof that serves as a reminder when I think "This is NOT happening". Those scars say "Oh yes it is." But I refuse to be ashamed of them. They are part of my story now and I'll carry them with pride.
I suppose I'm a fast healer. Maybe I'm just stubborn. Maybe I just had a super duper surgeon. Any way you go, I did very well with the surgery.
So here we are, back at the present. We met with the oncologist on August 20 and we should be receiving the call this week stating whether I'll need 12 weeks of chemo or 20 weeks. So I'd say I'm chemo-bound within the next two weeks.
I wish I just knew when so I could plan. But for now, after a whirlwind, I'm spending my days close to my phone waiting for the call. Trying my best to prepare as best as I can for a temporary new life that's coming that I can't even really predict.
So this is where this journey has led me so far. Just writing all that was exhausting but I'm glad I have it put into words. And now that I've started, I see I still have so much to say. But how much could this poor blog actually hold?
How do I feel about it all? I think that's an important part of this self-counseling session I'm doing. So Becky, how are you feeling about all of this?
Well, I'm anxious about what chemo will be like. Will I be sick? What kind of fatigue are they referring to? Benadryl tired? Tired like I was at work the day after staying up all night waiting for my friend to have her baby? Or tired like I can't move my arms and legs and can't get out of bed or walk. I'm frightened about what is to come. I feel alone in a sea of people. I am devastated. I feel guilty for being so vain about losing my hair. I feel proud that I'm fighting a battle I'm going to win. I feel grateful for more things than I could ever write down.
I feel blessed.