Family – Boob Gone Rogue

October 1, 2020 – Forgetfulness and questions

I don’t remember what I was going to write about. I put it off too long and now I forgot. I do know that I wanted to write about the question “If you could have a meal with anyone alive or dead, who would it be?”, after I wrote about the subject that I no longer remember I wanted to write about. Thank you chemo, menopause, age, or all of the above…

I may have wanted to write about my latest Oncology appointment. The one that starts the process for my next MRI. Dr. Ciarolla, for the first time, did a physical examination. I have been experiencing tenderness in the left breast, around the area they are watching the changes on the semi-annual MRI’s. I don’t really feel anything there, and Dr. Ciarolla said he didn’t feel anything either. But tenderness is what led me to discovering Blink finally. So, I try not to hold my breath, and wait and see.

Maybe I wanted to write about how much I miss seeing my extended family. How the pandemic has made me feel so isolated from all of them. We see the kids as often as we feel we can without jeopardizing our health; especially since we have been making ourselves available to our friend, and neighbor, Moses, who is now battling his own cancer diagnosis. Occasionally he has needed help with rides or just a visit to help him through the hard times. He recently spent a week in the hospital with pneumonia. He was not happy that this has added a delay to his treatment plan, which I totally get! You want your treatment plan to go as planned. Any bump in the road leaves you feeling uncertain and scared. How bad is this bump, as it is almost always medical in nature, and does this mean my cancer has spread, or my treatments have caused other insurmountable issues, and, and, and…

Your inner dragon starts whirling in terror, and you cannot breath, your heart wants to stop, you have no energy to deal with the situation, and yet you must. It’s so overwhelming, and then you cry, because that is the only thing left in your body to help you deal with all that emotion swirling and curling, being flung left and right by your dragon. And that makes you feel stupid because you are crying, and that exhausts you even more. It’s a vicious cycle, and it’s ok to be afraid, and cry, and exhausted, frustrated and physically weak. It’s all part of the process. Some have no issues and others drown in the emotionally eddies. Most of us are somewhere in between the two extremes. It’s easy for me to sympathize with Moses, been there. I may not have contracted pneumonia, but I had my own delays and hurdles.

Maybe I wanted to write about celebrating our grandkitty, Winky’s second birthday. I know celebrate a cats birthday?!?! But that is exactly what we did. Yet another excuse to see the kids. She loved the special food she got for dinner and her “Uncle Jordon and Aunt Kelly” got the win for favorite birthday present. Although, I did get lots of love for the catnip buds, better than already flaked catnip. Such a happy little one-eyed cat for the weekend.

Maybe I wanted to write about going back to work as a temp for my old boss, part time. Gary had a need, and I would do just about anything for Gary and Kyle. They have been so good to me. So I am working part time, until they are fully staffed again, helping them out. But there is a kicker to this… I was a Director of Operations, making a six figure salary before Blink. When I came back to work for Gary after treatment was over, and I was ready to try my hand at working again, it was for far less then I had been earning before.

Then I had the opportunity to go to NEXT, which I took, back to that six figure salary. Only NEXT was not at all what I expected or dreamed, and when all was said and done, I realize I don’t want to be in that situation again. I don’t want to be in charge, making decisions, being the responsible one. It’s too much after Blink. My brain still does not process things the same way anymore. I still have difficulties with multi-tasking.

Simple things I can do, but the more difficult the task, the more concentration I now require to complete the task, the less I am able to separate or segment my thought processes to be able to comprehend when someone is talking to me and be able to respond and still keep my place on the other task I am working on. Example – knitting, mostly muscle memory, right? I can knit a basic pattern and watch basic TV shows or participate in my Support group, but if the conversation turns and requires higher thinking power, higher concentration, I can, and have, messed up my basic knitting pattern. This was something I never had difficulty with pre-chemo.

This leads me to now, going back to work as a temp for Gary. I have gone from a six figure salary to $25 an hour data entry clerk. Once I am done helping Gary, I know I can go back to the OCU (Office Clerical Unit of Local 63) hall and pick up temp jobs from there for more than $25 per hour, but it kind of stings my ego and my heart. My worth is no longer what it was. I am no longer worth that six figure salary that I worked so hard to earn. The years spent learning and growing in my industry to get me to that place where I could be that responsible person, making the hard decisions. Not that I want that place anymore, I have more important things to do than be that responsible for someone else’s business, but it’s that little sting in the gut, my worth has fallen because of Blink. I am no longer worth that six figure salary.

I know my value is still worth far more than any salary could provide, but it is still a small little hurt to my ego as to what Blink has cost me. I enjoyed my career, and all the people I have met, including the many I can call friends, but knowing that part of my life is over now still pangs a little. Part of me wants to still try to regain that part of me, but most of me, the deepest parts of me, does not want that anymore. So the sting is just small, but it’s still there.

Could it be I wanted to write about all the Facebook “memories” that would pop up everyday from three years ago. The memories of the days leading up my discovery of Blink. The days of innocence. The days of bliss. Not knowing what was lurking in my right breast that would turn my world upside down. The diagnosis that would bring me to the here and now. To never be innocent again, to never be able to see the world quite the same. I miss that innocence, that bliss, that feeling that everything was so right in my world. Oh, there was the occasional calamity, but I always knew they were surmountable. The diagnosis of Blink took all of that away. Nothing like when I had Thyroid cancer, as scary of that was, this is a killer. Knowing this, having this lurk over me for the rest of my life, that, that is what has changed, and I miss the before. I miss that girl, and everything that was going so right for her.

I still love myself, not the same way as I did then. I have a different appreciation for life, family, experiences, love, hope and joy. I am glad I have these new perspectives, but as I noted above, those rose colored glasses were so much fun.

Now for the one thing I do remember I wanted to write about. When prompted journals or someone asks you -” If you had the chance to meet with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be and why?” I’ve always had some inklings of who I’d want to talk with, share coffee or tea, break bread with, but it has always felt so trite and almost rehearsed. With the passing of Ruth Bader Ginsberg, I finally had a true yearning to have that hypothetical meeting with a person “dead or alive”. I would love to meet RBG, have tea with her, talk of life, love, equality, justice, religion, and jokes. On a recent night, as I was pondering this, I had the feeling of this soft little hand reach out to hold mine. For some reason I knew that she was with me briefly, just to let me know she knew me and understood my sudden yearning to have met her. Then her presence was replaced with my grandmother, my Nane. My Nane who I know watches over me, but rarely does she make her presence known. That night she did. She sat with me for a while, to let me know all would be as it should be.

So, I go forward, over the next two weeks, not holding my breath, with my dragon tightly curled into her little ball, as I wait for that MRI appointment. Knowing all will be as it should be going forward.

Life is dealing with the new future

Sunday, June 2 – A little catch up

A few months ago I happened to read a published text thread about a person who’s father had died when they were 18, and mom had scattered some of dad’s cremains here and there and was holding on to the rest until this person had picked out a nice holder for their portion of dad’s ashes. When this person finally found the perfect container and went to mom for a small portion of the cremains, Dad’s ashes had solidified. Long story short, there is this hilariously long text thread about Dad’s solidified cremains. (linked to the published text thread)

That lead to us discussing my father in laws cremains that my husband had scattered some over the VA Cemetery per Dad’s wishes and we’ve been holding on to the rest to scatter where he asked in his will. Life has happened so Dad’s cremains have been stored in a box in our bonus room for a while now. Recently Robert checked Dad’s cremains only find that yes, they had solidified. Makes me want to find the original publisher of that text thread and ask them what actually worked!

The reason Robert had checked on Dad’s cremains was we needed to clean up the bonus room so that Heather, Jose and Joseph could move into that room temporarily after they bought a house in Bakersfield and needed to wait to complete their move until Joseph was out of school.

We enjoyed all the time we were able to spend with the Grandson, the Grand Kitty, and our kids, even though they spent most weekends preparing their new house for when they would get to move in permanently. One weekend it was just Jose up at the new house, and the neighbors came out and asked him if he was the paint guy. We had a good laugh over that one and have now nicknamed him “Jose – The Paint Guy”.

Winky made herself quite at home in the time they spent at our house….

We took a trip up north to re-start our annual trips to our favorite winery with my dad and mom#2. This year the spring members’ event at Schramsberg was supposed to be in The Grove, which is one of our favorite spots, but Mother Nature had other plans. It rained that day so we celebrated in the caves instead. We enjoyed the time in the caves tasting the new releases and food, and of course wine purchased.

Also in the past month Kelly, our soon to be DIL, passed her state licensing exam and is now a fully licensed Doctor of Psychology in the state of California. We’re so proud for her and this great accomplishment. Jordon and Kelly can now concentrate on planning their wedding for later this year.

The weekend before the kids last week in our house, Joseph was going to spend Sunday with Grandpa, while Heather and I joined the rest of the bridal party to go bridesmaid dress shopping with Kelly and her mother. Joseph decided that spending the day with Grandpa included him helping Grandpa with the chore of washing our bed sheets. Because I dye my hair purple, and purple dye is not permanent, it rubs off on my pillow case. As Robert was pre-treating my pillow case with stain remover, Joseph asked him what the purplish pink stains on the pillow case were. Robert being the quick witted joker he is, told Joseph that sometimes at night Nane’s brains leak out her ears and stain the pillow case. With a horrified look on his face, Joseph them asked Grandpa if it hurt when my brains leaked out my ears. Grandpa told Joseph he should ask Nane about that.

Heather and I were in their room when he came in and asked me if he could ask me a question. He whispered the question at Heather and I were in their room when he came in and asked me if he could ask me a question. He whispered the question at first and I could not hear him, but I could see Robert hiding in the kitchen doorway with his shoulder that was visible shaking from him stifling his laughter. My first thought was “Oh lord, what has he said now?” I asked Joseph to speak up a little more so I could hear his question, and he repeated his question “Nane, does it hurt when your brains leak out your ears at night?” Heather was the first to react to the question, asking Joseph why he would think that. Robert could not hold back his laughter anymore and between the three of them, Heather trying to act indignant, Joseph confused and Robert laughing, I started laughing too. Between Robert and Joseph we got the story behind the question and I looked at Joseph with a smile on my face and asked him “What color is Nane’s hair?” He looked at my head and as he was saying purple, you could see the light dawning on his face that he had been had by Grandpa. I confirmed that yes; the color on the pillowcase is from the dye in my hair rubbing off during the night. Joseph did laugh then. Later in the day after Grandpa had continued to joke with Joseph about my brains leaking out, Joseph finally said to Grandpa that it was not funny anymore.

My foot is healing up well from my wart removal surgery, and the current dosing of Klonopin is working well in controlling the worst of the side effects of my neuropathy. I changed it up a bit, two days full dose, 1 day 1/2 dose, 1 day full dose, 1 day half dose and start over.

I also agreed to talk with a new trucking company that had been reaching out to me for a few months through LinkedIn about a employment opportunity. I ignored the first messages from the company and several head hunters trying to entice me with vague job descriptions and promises of great benefits. After a third direct attempt from this company with more information of what they were looking for and what they are doing currently, I figured the universe was trying to tell me something. I responded to the LinkedIn message.

This lead to a phone interview, which led to another, and then a in person meeting. I can’t really say the first in person meetings were an interview per se, more of an exchanging of ideas and what they want and what I want back and forth. This lead to other in person meetings and them practically throwing me a package that listed their medical, dental and vision plans along with a cost sheet before I made a decision to commit to them. After thinking about it I agreed to let them make a formal offer, which turned out to be an offer I just could not refuse.

This was not an easy decision for me to make, as my current employer had been so good to us, to me. When I went to work for them in 2011, I really did think this would be my last job before I retired. But again, the Work Gods had something else in store for me. I am excited to be starting this new adventure, and a little scared at the same time. But if it doesn’t scare you a little, it’s probably not worth doing.

Last Friday was the last day the kids were here. Heather’s last day of work at the pet hospital was last Thursday. Friday May 31 was Joseph’s last day of school. Grandpa was up and cranked Alice Coopers Schools Out for Summer while Joseph was getting ready. It only took him a few minutes of listening to the song before he was singing the lyrics while brushing his teeth.

Heather packed up the last of their belongings, except for their bed, and headed to Bakersfield with Winky (grand kitty) about the same time I headed into work. Jose picked Joseph up from school and they went to enjoy the carnival that was taking place at his school Friday afternoon. They headed to our place about 8pm and picked up the mattress and then they were gone too. We’re empty nesters once again.

Saturday found me heading into Long Beach to catch up with old co-workers from APL. We try to have an APL Oldies reunion at least once a year. It was good to see some of the people I miss dearly, and catch up with them once again. The last time we went I had no hair. Everyone loved my new purple hair.

Life is trying new adventures

March 2019 – All the Posts I have not made

No parade for my birthday, but I did see the castle with “snow”

I know it has been months. I have been busy, and there have been some things I was not ready to face in writing. I am fine! We celebrated my birthday at Disneyland, and I enjoyed every moment. We rented a wheel chair for my birthday trip rather than use the ECV. Robert and I had so much fun just being there I forgot to get my birthday button!

I also decided it was time to remove the TCST reminder from the bathroom mirror. Remember way back at the beginning of all this, my wonderful spouse surprised me one day with the big take away words from the first Oncologist we met with when we received my diagnosis – Treatable, Curable, Survivable, and Temporary, TCST. He had purchased pink decal letters and spelled those words out on the bathroom mirror so I would see them every day as a reminder while I was going through treatment. It was time for them to come off, for me to move on from being the patient to being a survivor. Once they were removed, I felt another little weight that had been hanging around my neck float away.

I noticed that as I slowly moved away from the fear and anxiety of this serious diagnosis and treatment plan, and worked towards loving myself again and having joy back, the lighter my heart felt. I perceived with each little step forward less tension in my back, that squeezes around my sides and restricts my breathing. It was also getting easier to take those small little steps back into the light. Still not 100%, but getting ever so closer to feeling like I am whole again, at peace with myself.

We went up north to celebrate Chanukah with my family, and because my cousin was not feeling well, I was put in charge of the kitchen. I wondered how she managed the last Chanukah and Passover without me there. She is always breaking something or having a surgery to fix something that did not heal correctly and it seems like she needs to be off her feet, so I am in charge of making sure everyone gets their dishes out on time and any specialty foods are prepared to our exacting requirements. Moreover, by our, I mean Deda and my preferences. We have worked over the years to perfect the Latke recipe, and I have worked to make Noodle Kugel to our liking not only for Chanukah, but kosher for Passover too. Do not get me on how many years I have experimented with different recipes of kosher for Passover fluffy light Matzo Balls!

So there I was with my neuropathic feet and hands, directing the cousins and kids on the art of making our crispy on the outside, creamy on the inside shredded Latke. I made sure I took time to go rest my feet at well, between the prepping, mixing and cooking of all the Latke. And making sure everyone else was coordinating the use of the oven and microwave accordingly to get dishes out on the buffet timely without going cold. At one point, we blew a fuse, so I went to ask Deda where the breaker box was so I could trip the breaker while the “Kids” moved the electric skillets around in the kitchen so we would not have a repeat of overloading that circuit. Deda had been ensconced on the sofa, cuddled in a blanket trying to keep her germy, virusy self away from everyone else. When I told her what I needed she started to explain where I could find the breaker box and gave up, as she just knew she could not explain adequately so I could locate. I headed down the hall to the garage as she heaved herself up out of the sofa and made her way to the hallway. I am a good 25+ feet away when she makes the step up from the family room to the hallway and promptly kicks the corner of the wall at the edge of a 6 foot wide (maybe more) stairway. I heard the crack of her little toe, and cringed. I asked her if that was her toe, as I slowly turn to see her bent over, holding the offended toe, trying to not yell “Ow, ow, ow, FUCK, ow!” Yes, she broke it. Told you she breaks things!

As she hobbled to the garage to trip the breaker, I went to the freezer and made up an ice pack for her. She had an Expo the following week, and there is not much you can do for broken toes, except try to stay off them.

I went back to work too! Part time, started out at four hours a day. When I had met with my boss and HR, we were thinking 10am to 2pm, but when I checked in with them before the week I started back in December, they asked if I could work Noon to 4pm instead. That would provide the needed help in the afternoons to get ready for the 2^nd shift and review of empty shipping containers that needed to go back to the ports. Yeah, I could work with that. First week back and I did ok. Up to this point, I was feeling really tired from the effects of the Gabapentin; but I was still working with Dr. R on that aspect.

The weekend after our trip up north for Chanukah, our wonderful neighbors told us they were once again hosting a Christmas Party, and for the first time in years, we would be able to attend since we would not be out of town for Chanukah. On the appointed day, I took it easy. Robert started getting antsy about 4pm, telling me to stop taking things I was done with out to the garage, to not take out the garbage, to just sit and relax. When I would push back and tell him I was fine, he kept reminding me we were going to the party and I would probably be on my feet a lot, I needed to rest. At one point, he was even pushing for me to take a nap. Something was up, but I could not figure out what was wrong. As he was getting ready, (he had just exited the bathroom after taking a shower), there was a knock at the door. Low and behold, there were my parents (Dad and Mom#2). I gave them a look like “what are you doing here”. We had just seen them the week before when we went up for Chanukah. My first thought was they had come down to visit friends and were early so they needed a place to crash. I opened the door wider for them as my Dad gave Mom#2 a look and mumbled something about not reading the invitation correctly. I apologized for the look of my house, I was being partially lazy all day in preps for the party at the neighbor’s house shortly and then the guilty look on my mom’s face really took over. OMG that is why Robert was now cursing in our bedroom, my parents made the “good neighbors” list and them being invited to Bob and Moses’ Holiday party was a surprise for me! Mom made me swear to act surprised when I walked in and they made their way across the street. How sweet!

I went to get ready and asked Robert if my parents were the surprise he was trying to hide and why he kept telling me I could not take out my trash or go to the garage earlier. He said, yes, that was the surprise he was trying to hide from me in case they parked their car where I would notice. He has been talking about replacing his car for almost a year now, and doesn’t know what he wants, so I was thinking he had finally made a decision and was hiding his new car in Bob and Moses’ driveway! They have so many I would not notice if there were a new car there or not quite frankly. I was wondering why he felt he needed to keep it such a secret. However, that is how my mind works.

We finished getting ready, and Robert said we should head over. Moses was waiting for us at the front door and said everyone had gathered out back, but he was waiting for his sister. We headed out back and SURPRISE; it was not Bob and Moses’ Holiday Party, but a surprise late birthday party/done with cancer party for me! Not only were my Dad and Mom#2 there, but my Mom, brother Rob, nephew Kevin, cousin Deda, Heather, Joseph, Jordon and Kelly, some of the close neighbors (as I had been promised for the Holiday party), as well as my Breast Cancer Support Group! I was totally blown away! The kids supplied all the food and drink, while Bob and Moses supplied the venue AND a photo booth.

I got to keep a copy of all pictures taken at the photo booth. We had so much fun with that. Remember when I mentioned that my cousin manages to break something all the time? Well she and my son Jordon were playing with props and posing in the photo booth. Deda decided to remove her glasses, and Jordon, decided to whip a boa he had around his neck back, which managed to whack Deda in the eye. All of this was caught in the three-photo strip produced by the magic photo machine. I laughed so hard! Yup, she tried to break her eye…. LOL. They won for the best photo strip produced that night.

I had a great time at this surprise party, and reminded yet again how lucky I am to have such a wonderful family and friends.

We hosted Robert’s cousins, aunt, and his mom and stepdad for Christmas Eve, with all the usual food and fun. As has become the custom, the cousins brought me a gift of my favorite whiskey – Midleton Very Rare Irish Whiskey. This is a delicious sipping whiskey with a wonderful citrusy finish that pairs wonderfully with chocolate! It is also very expensive. Imagine my delight to see this wonderful gift yet again. After about a year of not being able to drink wine, beer or my whiskey, I am sure you can just begin to imagine how excited I was to be able to enjoy this fine sipping whiskey yet again.

Christmas day the kids all come over, I make beignets, and set out fruit and cheese for noshing, and we open gifts. This year Robert had finally cleared out the back section of our back yard and started making the BMX track for Joseph to ride on that he had been promising. Not everything they had discussed was built, but there were enough berms and a large tabletop in place they could ride back there with ease. Great Grandpa Hassing and Great Grandma Sue gave Joseph riding gear for Christmas, while we supplied a bike to keep here, along with a helmet, all in his favorite color green. Then Grandpa surprised Joseph by coming out on a bike himself so they could ride together. The kid was in heaven, so happy to be able to ride out back in his own special riding area.

The New Year found us once again up north with my parents celebrating the holidays with them. We took a day to go exploring with my brother Rob and nephew Kevin. We headed to the north side of the Golden Gate Bridge to check out the scenery, do a little hiking, and ended up on Rodeo Beach where Kevin built a stacked sculpture from items found on the beach. We all had a great day being outdoors and spending time together. Good food while we were up there, wonderful conversations, and a relaxing time spent with all of them before we headed back home and back to work.

We also now have a grandkitty. A small kitten was found in a dumpster with an infection in her left eye socket and starving. Heather agreed to foster the kitten while they had her on antibiotics to clear up the infection and to see if she even had an eye in the socket. The vet Heather works for didn’t think she had an eye, but it was hard to say for sure due to the massive infection. She still needed to be bottle fed for a bit before she could be weaned to kitten food. Heather, Jose and Joseph originally thought to name her Mittens because of her markings (black and white); we suggested a better name – Winky.

Winky is what we call a foster fail. Heather agreed to foster until she was ready to be adopted, but it seems the family is in love with that cute little one eyed beauty, so there will be no adoption. Winky has her forever home and we have an adorable grandkitty that comes over for family dinners.

Robert has agreed to watch Joseph several times when he has holidays from school, but Heather and Jose both had to work. They have enjoyed their bonding time of riding in the back yard together, watching movies and eating pizza. It’s so much fun to watch the two of them together.

I continued to fight with Dr. R about getting me off Gabapentin for two more months before I finally told him I was referred to him to manage the psychotropic drugs to deal with my neuropathy symptoms since Gabapentin made me so dang tired. He made the mistake of asking me once again how irritated I was feeling. I told him the only thing irritating me was him, and why was I spending my money there to get off of Gabapentin if he was not going to help change the medication over to the next phase of drugs – the psychotropic meds? He seemed to want to ignore that statement and asked me yet again about work. In February and I had added another hour to my workday, so I am now working 11am to 4pm. He wanted to know how this was going; did I feel stressed about my working conditions? Every appointment he asks me this, and every appointment I tell him I am not stressed about work, or the conditions! Yes, I now work for the person who used to work for me. Yes, my old job is no longer available, but the President of the company did not have to take me back, yet he did. I am working, slowly getting back to full time, and not being pressured to do more than I think I can handle without stressing myself out or overdoing what I can physically handle. What do I have to stress about, other than you Dr. R? I once again explained to him why I was there, not for him to manage my moods or emotional state, but to manage the prescription medications to manage my neuropathy. His first response was I do not manage neuropathy. I must have given him “the look”, as he immediately asked me when I see my Oncologist again. I told him I had just seen her. He then asked me “what did he suggest?” I told him “SHE suggested Lyrica”. He gave me a look and said ok, let us stop the Gabapentin and we are going to try Klonopin which is a sedative used for seizures, panic disorder and anxiety. Psychotropic drug in the benzodiazepine family. He started me off on the lowest dose, .5mg. I am not thrilled that we are starting with this particular psychotropic drug, but glad that he is finally listening to me and we are now turning in the direction that I need, not the direction his overbearing pompous ass has decided I should be going.

Heather, Joseph and I went down to San Diego area twice for Guild meeting and projects. I had a wonderful time visiting with our Guild members both times and I am looking forward to spring fair. I will only be attending one weekend as my dear cousin has scheduled the family Passover Seder on the last DAY of Passover, which is also the same as the first weekend of spring fair. For those of you who don’t know, Jewish holidays start at sundown the evening before the day of the holiday and run until sundown of the last day of the holiday (for one day holidays it is from sundown to sundown, for multiday holidays it runs sundown, days 1, 2, 3… to last day of celebration sundown). Since I missed Passover with my family last year, I do not want to miss it again this year. So only one weekend of fair for me this spring.

I had my first “infection” since chemo. I woke up one Monday morning about 4am with the chills, body aches, and my face feeling like it was about to blow off from all the pressure in my sinuses, but I could breathe just fine. I took a dose of Nyquil and went back to bed. Finally dragged myself up again about 9am and was still shivering. The last time I was shivering like that and could not seem to get warm was when I was on chemo. Duh, I must have a fever! I pulled out the thermometer we had purchased to keep tabs on me during chemo treatments and took my temperature. It beeped after about 30 seconds and when I pulled it out from under my tongue, it read 358^o! Then it flashed red and displayed the message it had a low battery. For a second I thought for sure the message was going to tell me to get to the ER now! I asked Robert to feel my forehead instead and he said it felt a little warm. I was still feeling the major body aches and the sinus pressure, so took another dose of Nyquil, texted the office I would not be in and went back to bed. Other than getting up to pee and drink more water, I slept the whole day and that night.

The following day I was still feeling the same, so stayed home from work another day and other than about 2 hours in the afternoon that I forced myself up to eat something, I slept in bed. Robert knew I must be sick if I was not even getting out of bed and napping on the sofa, which is what I mostly did while I was on chemo. I would get up, make myself wash and brush my teeth and head to the sofa. Even though I was exhausted most of the time, I would still take my naps on the sofa, not in bed. I was not ILL then. Well, except for that one time when I spiked the fever, but the antibiotics I was supplied with at the start of chemo took care of that right away.

By Wednesday of that week, I still felt the pressure in my sinuses, but the body aches and the chills had mostly subsided, and my ears were feeling clogged, but I was still breathing ok, so I went back to work. Same with the following week, but now that pressure in my sinuses was starting to create congestion, and I developed a cough, that was just getting worse. I called my GP’s office and scheduled an appointment on that Friday morning. She was not happy with me. I had blazing ear infections, a glorious sinus infection (even though when I blew my nose my phlegm was clear, but when I used my Neti pot, that would flush some nasty looking globs out of my sinuses), and she didn’t really like the sound of my upper lungs. No crackling but I did sound a little wheezy, so the infection was trying to work its way down. In addition, I had been masking my fever for the past week and a half with Dayquil. I was at 99.9^o when they took my temp there. I was told to go back home, take the antibiotics and rest. I could go back to work next week.

I was not sure how I felt about being ill. It almost felt like a badge of honor and I should be proud, I survived Chemo, surgery and radiation and now I was allowed to be “normal” and pick up the passed around germs and develop infections like all the rest of the “non-cancer” people. On the other hand, I was not liking being sick. It felt so foreign now.

During my 14 months of treatment and recovery, I re-connected with one of my high school teachers. I loved this teacher, he cared about his students, and even though he was the music teacher, and I did not play an instrument, I did have him as the director of marching band – I was in the rifle core. In the spring, he would have me as his TA for my first class of the day so my schedule would not get messed up. He would talk to us, try to impart wisdom, and was always there to listen when we had a problem, whether at school or home. If you messed up he expected you to be honest about your mistakes and he imposed penalties. Usually an essay about what you did wrong, examine your motives and decision making, how your error affected those around you and yourself, and then provide a plan on how to prevent the same error in the future. He cared.

He planned a trip to SoCal at the beginning of March. We made arrangements to meet up for coffee and a nosh before I had to get into work. It was wonderful catching up with him and hearing about some of my classmates. We talked about some neither of us have connected with since graduation, which we both found sad. One of my classmates won an Oscar this year! He was very proud of what this student had done with his music.

Now to address what I have not wanted to put in writing as it makes it all too real. Two of the women in my support group are still battling their triple negative breast cancer (TNBC). Mary Jo knew she was positive for the BRCA1 gene mutation, but had not had a prophylactic bi-lateral mastectomy. Last year she found a lump in one breast and when they did the diagnostic imaging they found another smaller lump (DCIS) in her other breast. She opted for chemo and a lumpectomy on the invasive spot, but wanted to wait and see what would happen with the DCIS. When she had her lumpectomy, she had not had a complete pathological response to chemo, even though her invasive tumor had shrunk considerably. She also was afraid radiation therapy would cause her more problems with recurrence, so opted to reject that recommended treatment. Her doctor did enroll her in a trial group for immuno-therapy though. A few months later, she found another lump in the same breast that had the lumpectomy. This time she did have a mastectomy and she is now back on chemo.

She has sought out a secondary opinion with an Oncologist at City of Hope. The first thing they told her is that the chemo regime she was originally given is not a proven track record for those with the BRCA1 mutation. Her original Oncologist should have known this as it is proven in journals and AMA publications. The standard chemo regime for TNBC with BRCA1 mutation is different than those without the BRCA1 mutation. Her oncologist had put her back on two of the standard drugs, Taxol and Carboplatin, in the standard dosing. Since she went back to them with the City of Hope’s initial information, they have changed her chemo regime to the correct one for BRCA1 – Gemzar and Carboplatin in a dose dense cycle; switching off weeks and waiting a week before starting the next cycle. We are all very hopeful that with the City of Hope now consulting on her treatment plan, that this will kill off any residual cancer cells and she can be cancer free.

The other woman in my group with TNBC is Kelly. She is negative for all the usual gene mutations they now test for BC risk. When she originally found her lump, her doctor ordered an Ultrasound. The tech only scanned half her breast, and they proceeded to schedule her for a lumpectomy rather than a biopsy. Her pathology report came back as TNBC, so they then put her on chemo. She was going to opt for a bi-lateral mastectomy and trans-flap reconstruction and avoid the radiation therapy. As she ended chemo and was waiting on her body to recover enough for surgery she kept feeling a lump very close to where her original lump had been. Her oncologist kept telling her it was just scar tissue, not to worry. She finally insisted they do an ultrasound. That was when she found out the original ultrasound was done on only half her breast. This time they did both breasts.

They found another lump and did a biopsy. With the pathology report due any second, as she was going into surgery for the bi-lateral mastectomy and trans-flap surgery, she told her oncology surgeon that if the pathology report came back as positive for ANY active cancer, she did not want the reconstructive surgery. 13.5 hours later, she woke to find that it was active TNBC, and despite her request to omit the reconstructive portion of surgery if there was still active cancer, the plastic surgeon had proceeded with the reconstruction.

Several weeks after this happened she noticed a rash on the side where her lumpectomy had been. Her oncologist told her it was probably a reaction to something and not to worry about. Her rash quickly spread and grew worse – becoming painful with open sores. She insisted they biopsy the rash to figure out what it was. TNBC, due to sloppy surgery had been spread to her skin. They scheduled her for radiation treatment. In the meantime, she went to City of Hope for a second opinion. First, they told her after reviewing all her records that she had grounds for a malpractice suit. Then they told her that if they cannot cure this spread of her TNBC, they can manage it long term. They had several TNBC patients on long-term management care, one going on 20 years now. She is now going to UCLA with oversight from City of Hope and fighting for her life.

Yes, these stories scare the shit out of me. I remind myself that after chemo I had no signs of active cancer from my original tumor and no signs of active cancer in my lymph nodes. This is such a positive for me in regards to my long-term recurrence and survival rates. This helps when that little dragon tries to do loops in my torso, and the demon in my brain tries to negate every positive thought in my brain. When I feel the that dragon and demon, I remind myself to relax my jaw, to breathe in slowly and deeply, hold a moment then exhale just as slowly. I start paying attention to what I hear, see and feel around me to take my focus away from the negative and be in the moment.

These two strong, fighting women, along with Armanda who is the ER/PR positive metastatic “newcomer” to our group inspire me and scare me at the same time. I pray for them daily for their cure, then follow that with if not cured, then let them be on long term, VERY long term management of their cancers.

Life is praying for my friends

Saturday, October 27 – Dreaming of my ancestors

For two nights in a row now I have dreamt of family. Thursday night I had vignettes of various scenes of my family and extended family celebrating various occasions. It started with all my family, and when I say all I mean ALL, celebrating my younger cousin and his new bride. It was around a first home search/purchase or something like that. We ended up with dinner at a restaurant. We were all in a private room in the back. All of us sitting around a huge table, talking, sharing, and laughing. Having a wonderful time, and I realized that my now deceased maternal grandparents were watching over us, happy, with a sense of “Look what we have created” accomplishment. It brought me a feeling of ease knowing my deceased grandparents were watching over us.

I went through several other scenes with family, bonding, loving, sharing. I don’t remember much, just the wonderful feeling of togetherness. The last vignette was with my sister/cousin, her boys, husband and mom (my aunt). My uncle passed away years ago from malignant melanoma. My uncle was a republican. One of Deda’s sons was extolling to us the virtues of being a republican – fiscal responsibility, 2nd amendment rights, smaller government… and so on. Then he told us that all men are republicans and all women are democrats and that is why men and women do not understand each other. He then announced that when he grows up he is going to be a Democrat! We all clearly heard my deceased uncle say at that point “over my dead body!” And then he (my uncle) laughed. We laughed as well. This is when I woke up giggling. Nice way to wake up!

Last night I specifically dreamt of only my father’s family. I had vignettes of family talking, drinking and laughing all over various areas of the San Francisco Bay Area. I ended at my great grandparents house, but not one I remember. This house was at the top of a hill that I could not tell you where in The City, but it was a typical turn of the century single family home – tall and skinny, one abutted to another, the whole length of the street. The front doors on the second level with stairs up from street level. Only the stairs up to my great grandparents home we’re narrow and steep with a very low wrought iron railing. My brother called me while I was climbing those stairs, joking and teasing me all the way up. I woke as my great aunt was taking me in to see my great grandparents.

Am I dreaming of my family past and present because I find family a balm to my soul. My family brings me peace, love, compassion, and harmony. I feel safe and more whole when I am surrounded by my family, amid the chaos, laughter, tears, and yelling, I will gladly sit and watch all this happen around me as it fills my heart and soul. But why my past family? Why the family that has already passed? I know some of my antecedents watch over me, help guide me, keep me safe. Is this why they are in my dreams right now? Helping me to find my joy again? Or are they here to help me accept something else in my life? I’m not sure, but having the dreams the past two nights has been an easing of my stress, a balm to my soul, and some healing to my heart.

Life is accepting life as it is everyday

Tuesday September 19 – Result Day

This morning finds me wide awake before the alarm goes off. How long can I keep this up? I feel wooden. I am terrified. Why am I so afraid? It’s the unknown, yet known. I’m afraid because deep down, I know what it is, I just don’t want to acknowledge what it is. My hand creeps slowly up from my side and I feel my right breast. Damn, The Lump is still there. The steri-tapes I was told to keep on for 5 days are really starting to make me itch. It’s close enough to five days I can remove them before we go. The anxiety is heavier this morning, and it has spread. It’s now in my lungs and around my heart. It’s up in my throat. I take my morning pills, but I don’t eat. I can’t . The anxiety is a dragon unfurling slowly in my body, cutting off my ability to swallow, to talk. There are moments when I feel like I cannot breath.

My husband takes my hand. It will be OK. The dragon recedes just a bit. I can breathe again. We get in the car. We drive back to the BDC. I walk up to the front desk to check in. I have my pink slip, they look up at me. “Oh, OK, we will take that. We will be right with you.” The first Oh, is filled with dread. Then the voice turns perky. My dragon tightens. I go sit with my husband and hang on for dear life.

Evelyn, a cute petit brunette with kind eyes and a beautiful smile calls us, and brings us back to an office where we are directed to sit at a desk. Evelyn is calming, she speaks softly. She says Dr. R will be in shortly to consult with us and explain my diagnosis.

Dr. R comes in and introduces herself. I know this is going to be bad. I get out my notebook from my purse. I am a visual kinetic learner, so if I want something to sink in, even doodling will help me, if I am seeing or reading something I need to understand. If someone is speaking, key words and doodles help me commit it to memory. Dr. R said I get copies of all the pathology reports. She’s going to explain what it all means and provide us a recommendation on treatment.

She went through the pathology report top to bottom. As my heart constricted, my ears buzzed, my stomach flipped. My anchor was holding my hand, my dragon was doing flips inside my torso.

I have invasive ductal carcinoma. It’s considered triple negative at this point, but they do not have final confirmation. This means the current biopsy information provided shows this cancer is not receptive to Estrogen or Progesterone. We ask what this means. It means we cannot add a hormone therapy to cut off the hormone supply to the tumor to weaken it. They are waiting on results for HER2 cells. These are cells, that if present, are telling the tumor cells to multiply at an accelerated rate. If this is negative this means they cannot add an additional medication to chemo that will specifically target the HER2 cells to slow down its growth. My mind translates HER2 cells to God Cells – go forth and multiply.

This is an aggressive tumor. My Ki-67 came out at 80%.

Dr. R said if she was my oncologist, she would recommend Chemotherapy to shrink the tumor, lumpectomy, then radiation.

She asked about family history, when our response was negative, and she learned of my previous bout with Thyroid cancer, she said we should insist on genetic testing for any of the 7 variants that indicate a risk for breast cancer. Even if we have to pay for this ourselves as the insurance may not want to cover the cost since I am over 50, get it done. If I have one of those variants she would change the treatment recommendation to bilateral mastectomy.

She emphasized that even though people say a triple negative cancer is bad, don’t think about that. Think about the part that this type of cancer is very receptive to chemo. This is treatable, this is curable, this is survivable, and this is temporary.

She said I would lose my hair, get a wig, do whatever you need to do to feel pretty and keep up your confidence during treatment. I asked about working through this, she didn’t say no, but she seriously did not think it wise and told me I should really use this time to take care of myself. If I wanted to try to work, there are a few who feel well enough to do this, but most do not.

She told my husband, his job was not to not always tell me I must have a positive outlook everyday. She told him there will be days when she will just need to let everything out and that is OK. No one can always remain positive everyday during this treatment. She has to have the ability to let the feelings out, and you need to be the safe place for her to do that. It doesn’t mean she is losing hope. She just needs to vent.

My anchor, my rock, looked shell-shocked, but he heard Dr. R, he committed to her to let me use him to vent on my down days in this process, and he would understand that I was not giving up.

She asked if we had any questions. I am numb, I am petrified, how, what, how? Why? That dragon of anxiety, the curling gray fog has engulfed my whole body. My ears are working, but everything thing seems muffled. We shake our heads, no, no more questions. Wait, husband has a question. I hear it, but I don’t hear it. He is trying to emphasize that I will live. I have cancer. I have a bad cancer. I have a cancer that will require chemo, and surgery and radiation, and reconstruction, and, and , and… I will live. Dr. R explains that Evelyn will be back in to go over more things with us.

Evelyn comes back in, she explains the diagnosis briefly, yes, we understand. Dr. R and none of the Oncologists that work at the BDC are under our HMO, but there is a group under our HMO that works directly with the BDC and the Oncologists there. Based on my diagnosis, she has picked who she feels will be a great match for us and I have been scheduled with an appointment with her the next Monday. Now, for a Surgeon, she checked with my primary care physician, and was directed to the preferred surgical group, and matched me with who she felt was the best doctor there for my case and that appointment has been scheduled as well. She has also scheduled me for an MRI in a few hours at the BDC. If there are additional lesions or lymph nodes that show signs of involvement, then I will need to be scheduled for additional biopsy and have those completed before my first Oncology appointment.

Then she opens a 2 inch wide plastic document case and starts going over resources, places to go for research, support groups, she highly recommends the Cancer Care Center, and we really need to get to the first welcome meeting on Friday before we can be signed up into a support group. And here is information on breast cancer. This will help you find local resources for wigs, scarves and hats, here is information on nutrition. And here is surgical information, and there will be Sentinel Lymph Node mapping done here before your surgery, and here some information on that for you to read. Here are contact numbers, and if you want reconstruction, let me know as I will get you matched to a plastic surgeon, and here, and here, and here… I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to say. I’m a statistic, again.

Evelyn explains she is also a breast cancer survivor. She tells us briefly about her diagnosis and her double mastectomy. Her sister too. She emphasizes that everything will be ok. My heart aches, it will never be the same again. My right boob is defective. Its gone rogue. It’s trying to kill me. Evelyn tells me she is going to hug me now. She is tiny, I will survive, I am terrified. I can’t believe this is happening. This is not my life. If this tiny thing can do it, so can I. I take some of her strength, I need it for the rest of the day.

We take our plastic document box with the handle, filled with way too much information to begin to digest in a few short hours, and walk out of the BDC hand in hand, in shock, both of us silently trying to come to terms with what we have just been told. We have about 2 hours before we have to be back for the MRI. Husband asks me if I want to eat, am I hungry. No, no I’m not hungry. Let’s go home.

I call my boss, tell him I will not be in the rest of the day. Explain my diagnosis. So many questions, I don’t have answers to yet. Can he tell people if they ask? Yes, no reason to hide this. It’s my boob…. We arrive home, my family is all waiting on pins and needles. I can’t talk to them right now. I have to tell them, but I am not ready for this. I will send them all an email, and then tell them they have to wait until Saturday before I am can talk. I will text them all to read the email. Husband texts two of the three kids to let them know. I copy the letter sent to extended family and send to them later. I also IM the oldest son to let him know.

Letter sent to the family: “As I am sure all of you have discussed, I found a lump in my right breast right before Labor Day weekend. I already had a follow-up doctor appointment scheduled for the Tuesday after, so didn’t rush to make another appointment.

I’ve had clean mammograms for years with the last one being this past January.

Tuesday, September 5^th, I told my primary care doctor about said lump. She felt it out, we both agreed it was most likely a cyst, and she scheduled me for a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound on Tuesday Sept 12^th.

That lead to being scheduled immediately for a biopsy, that happened on Thursday September 14^th.

Today was results day.

The lump is 29 x 22x 17 mm, and located on the anterior side of my breast 8 cm from the nipple.

It is an invasive ductal carcinoma, grade III

It is hormonal receptive negative and the Ki-67 indicator is 80%, which means it is a very aggressive tumor, and there is not the additional plus of being able to cut off hormone supply to help stop the cancer.

It is early stage, 1 or 2.

The mammogram and ultrasound did not detect any additional sites or enlarged lymph glands.

I have already been scheduled for an MRI today to insure no other lesions or lymph gland involvement before my first appointment with an Oncologist.

They are also trying to get me scheduled for genetic testing this week, but think it may not happen until next week when I meet with the Oncologist I have been referred to in my network.

The consulting oncologist we met with this morning advised if I was her patient, she would recommend chemo first, as this type of cancer responds well to chemo, shrink the tumor then have a lumpectomy.

If my genetic testing comes back positive for any one of 7 variants for breast cancer, that would change from her original recommendation to double mastectomy to prevent further occurrences.

I will be losing my hair, I may need radiation treatment, but that is still to be determined by the next scans and the genetic testing results.

I have a great medical team that is at my beck and call should I need them, even if it is only to help me with the doctors that are covered in my medical group or answer our questions.

I have been referred to support groups here as well.

The consulting oncologist and my cancer coordinator both emphasized this is very treatable, curable and temporary.

I am in good hands, and this is being fast tracked as much as possible so they can get a treatment plan in place sooner rather than later.

This is all the information I have right now. I am not ready to talk about this, and still have to go back to the imaging center for the MRI. As soon as I know more I will update you all.

Please do not call me today or tomorrow. I have much reading to do, and I have a full day symposium already scheduled for tomorrow that I really need to attend for work.

This weekend I will make time for phone calls. I love you all, I thank you all for your understanding and support.

Love you all VERY much.”

I head to our bedroom, remove all my jewelry. MRI, no metal. I have to take out the tiny stud in the second hole in my left earlobe. It’s really supposed to be a nose stud, but I love the tiny blue chip of color that barely winks from my lobe. I drop the stud. I can’t find it. Fuck my life.

Of course my mother did not read the messages, in order, so she calls. I can’t answer. I can’t talk, we have to go back for the MRI. Then my mom pocket dials me. I don’t know this is a pocket dial as I still cannot answer. I want to yell at her,” READ THE FUCKING EMAIL”. I want to yell at the world. I want to stop the world and get off until this whole thing is over. I want to wake up from this nightmare. This is NOT happening to me. I already had my cancer. It was easy, it was stressful, I lost my sense of taste, I would forget what I was doing, and ruined a perfectly good pot and made an egg in a shell catch fire, and burnt teabags, but I aced that cancer! I’m cured. I should not have to do this again. Why do I have to do this again. FFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK! I can’t breathe.

Husband takes my hand. The constriction in my chest eases just enough my lungs can expand yet again. We have arrived back at the BDC, and now we head to the other door. The door that says to me ” YOU HAVE CANCER”. I am no longer just the women coming in for my annual exam. Now I am the woman with cancer. Like I am defective. I didn’t do things right, so now I have cancer. I should have exercised more, lost weight, managed my weight, ate better, taken vitamins more regularly. Only drank red wine, not the bubbly or the whiskey…. I am bad. I have cancer. It feels like a walk of shame.

As we walk through the door, I hold my head up high.

Sign in. Wait, name is called, fill out more forms. Wait. Called back. Taken to dressing room and nurse explains how this will go. This will be an MRI with contrast, so once I am changed, all clothes off, into the provided tie waist pants and the gown tied in the back, I will be taken to a room to have an IV catheter started. Once that is done, then I will have the MRI of my breasts, chest and armpit area done.

As I prepare to change the nurse brings me some socks to use as well. She says it’s cold in the MRI room. I then wait to be taken for the IV catheter. When the phlebotomist comes to get me, and we go back to her little room, I ask her if she has a warm blanket.

“Oh, are you cold?”

“No, but if you want to be able to find a vein that will really be helpful“, as I hold up my arm and show her my non-existent veins.

She agrees, let’s warm up that arm. As we wait for the warm blanket to work its magic on my veins I give her the spiel on how this must go so the vein does not collapse. She takes it all in and says ok, we’ll let’s start you in a reclining position first and we will go from there. She moves the chair around a bit so we can recline it, and then she competently goes to work, finds a vein, takes her time, and in it goes, no hesitation and we’re done. I thank her for doing it in one fell swoop. She thanks me and says all the info I provided helped her too. Back to the small waiting room off the changing room, with the warm blanket held to my chest like a life-preserver.

The MRI tech comes and gets me. We go into the MRI room and she explains how I will lay on the board with my breastbone positioned on a small pad on a bar between two rectangular openings where my beasts will hang. She will place a pillow under my feet and a small support under my pelvis to help relieve some of the pressure on the breastbone. My arms will be extended above my head, like I am trying to fly like Superman. One hand will hold a “ball” that will be my signal if I am in distress, squeeze the ball. There will be three images taken without contrast, then, the last image will be with the contrast. My gown is removed and I lay down on the table, we adjust my placement. I am provided earplugs and earphones. The tech drapes the gown over my back. She places the ball in my hand. She hooks up the IV to the contrast. All set? Thumbs up. My breastbone hurts. I feel exposed. I feel like I am not a real person. It’s hard to breathe. The bed is raised, moved back, and then the tech is asking if I’m ready. No, but I don’t think I will ever be ready for this.

“First scan will be 4 minutes, please try to breathe normally, no deep breaths.” Whir, cachunk, cachunk, cachunk, rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrddddddddddddttttttttttt. Da tat, tat, tat, and on it goes, sounding its loud cacophony as images of my upper torso, my breasts, are made. “OK, that was good, next image will be 6 minutes. Here we go.” And more noise, while I lay there wondering how I got here. “One more and then we start the contrast.” Cancer is not dignified. You are exposed, and raw, and hurt. Fear curls throughout you, while you are bombarded with tests, and x-rays, and imaging, and chemicals. You bare parts of yourself to strangers as if you do this everyday. Breathe. Do not cry now. Fucking lump. “And now the contrast. You might feel a little cold. This scan will take 20 minutes.”

I am finally done. My breastbone feels bruised. The tech removes the catheter. They use the stretchy cling tape instead of regular bandage tape. Nice, no itching. I get dressed and we go. I can’t do this. I am not strong enough. I’m just a little frightened girl. We go home. There is so much information. I feel like I need to know it all before we meet the Oncologist. I set myself up on the sofa with my “Cancer Box” and start reading.

I am overwhelmed. This is too much. IT’S TOO FUCKING MUCH. I crawl into my husband’s lap and he holds me while I cry. It’s loud, sobbing, snot dripping, heart wrenching, face swelling, can’t catch my breath agony. Life is not the same. Life is hard, life is short, life is unfair.

I don’t eat at all that day. I can’t. Finally it’s bed time. I take a shot of Nyquil to help knock me out. I want, crave, need the oblivion of sleep.

Tuesday September 12 – Diagnostics

I go for the diagnostic exams. Feeling a little concerned, but this is nothing. Just a little inconvenience, First is the mammogram. It wasn’t the little localized paddles, it was the normal paddles, and they didn’t even squish me that hard. It did hurt, but not nearly as much as I thought it would. I did have one tear slip out and the poor tech was so sorry she was hurting me. I felt bad as I think the tear was more from the anxiety than anything else. Diagnostic mammograms were really a breeze compared to what I imagined. The technician excused herself to insure the radiologists had what they wanted on the images taken and then she was back hustling me over to wait for ultrasound. I was a little alarmed at how quick she seemed to want to get the images to the radiologist, and she wouldn’t let me see the scans. I knew if I really wanted to I could have pushed to see the scan, as it is my right, but I didn’t want to go there. Besides, this is nothing, it’s a cyst.

I was taken in for the ultrasound. The technician and I totally hit it off. Trading stories while she saved images of The Lump. Next thing I know, she too is exiting the room hurriedly, to make sure the radiologist is OK with the images secured. Now I’m starting to really feel like this may not be something so easy. Next thing I know the radiologist steps into the exam room with the technician, and explains to me that The Lump is not a cyst and we need to do a biopsy so we know what we’re dealing with.

Before I can even process this news, the tech has me up and going over pages and pages of paperwork, and I’ve been scheduled for a biopsy on Thursday morning at 9:45. I will not be able to work that day, as once the biopsy is done I will have to ice my boob for at least 6 hours. Boobs bleed a lot. Can easily reopen the wound, and my head is spinning. This is not happening.

I managed to get a text off to my cousin between the announcement by the radiologist and the Tech telling me what will happen, when, how and what I need to do to prepare. Text to cousin – “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!!!!!!! it’s not a cyst. Biopsy is next.” Response “Oh Jesus!”

Now my world is starting to spin. They are rushing this, is this is cancer? How the fuck did I get cancer in my fucking right boob!! It can’t be cancer. It’s benign. Breathe, slow, count to three, exhale, count to three. Again, count to four, exhale, one, two, three, four. I am out in the parking lot, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Call my husband who is still driving from Boise to Vegas. Don’t hyperventilate. Husband says don’t jump to conclusions. It could still be anything. In my gut, I know its cancer. The Lump – it’s trying to kill me, I just know it.

I try to remain calm that afternoon as I sort through my feelings. My dad and stepmom are arriving Friday to celebrate her birthday at the Disneyland Parks. We’re supposed to meet them for dinner Friday night, and meet them again on Saturday at the park, with dinner again already planned and reservations secured at the Blue Bayou. My cousins husband is turning 50 this weekend, she is throwing him a surprise party. We had already committed to my parents for Disneyland, we would not be heading up to the bay area for his party. But my mom has flown in from South Carolina to spend a few days with friends from her old Temple in Northern California and finish it off with the surprise party. I can’t make my cousin keep my secrets, not a secret like this, not one so big, not one that is now scaring the shit out of me. I’m going to have to tell my mom at least. And the kids. Husband arrives in Las Vegas and we talk a bit. It’s going to be OK, this is nothing. Life is good.

I take a deep breath and call my mom. Explain what has happened, and tell her about the biopsy. I text my cousin, tell her I have told my mom, she doesn’t have to keep the secret. She texts back she’d told her mom too, now. I should be expecting a call from my aunt. I’ve told all the kids. Including the oldest son, who no longer talks to us because we’re the root of all evil in his life. That is another story that for another place and time. Despite his issues with us, he is still loved. I call him and leave him a message. Everyone that needs to know, knows.

My aunt calls me. Reassured me this is nothing. Both her and my mother (her sister) had to go back for additional screenings because of dense breast tissue creating shadows in their mammograms. Both about the same age I am now. Well, yes Auntie – I’ve had to do that as well a few years back. I asked her if she could feel a lump when this happened to her. No, oh, well, yeah, it’s nothing. We left it at that, and I could feel the tiny seeds of fear starting to sprout roots in my gut.

I have made arrangements at work to be off Thursday and Friday to deal with the biopsy and all the steps I have to take to insure I don’t reopen the wound and have it bleed all over the place. My anxiety factor has now been elevated.

Wednesday September 6 – Calling my Cousin

I call my cousin on Wednesday September 6^th, ask her how she is faring. Get all the details of her accident, and heard how she was treated as a female motorcycle rider. There is discrimination there, subtle, but there. The ER doctor, also female, after running tests and imaging to insure nothing broken or uncontrollable bleeding, tells my much battered and bruised cousin she can go home, she’s being released. My cousin asks about her hugely swelling knee and the doctor agrees that it should be wrapped; she’ll get a nurse to do it before my cousin leaves. Then my cousin asks about pain relief. This is some pretty serious bruising happening here. She’s been hit by a car, flown through the air, and landed then rolled down the freeway! The doctor kind of slyly smiles and says she can prescribe Flexeril, which is primarily used as a muscle relaxer. There is that discrimination….

We then talk about The Lump, and the diagnostic mammogram I must have and the follow-up ultrasound. We discuss how it’s tender and I’m worried they will be using the smaller paddles they used, when, thanks to my dense breast tissue a few years back, I had to go back for secondary screening on my annual mammogram. That was very painful, and I was imagining this happening on The Lump. I was cringing before it was even going to happen. My cousin said she could send me some Flexeril. I told her it was OK, I already have some. We both laughed, I felt much better. Life was good.