I was at Gaby's school for Childwatch yesterday. Kindergarten lunch is pretty early, and my dear friend Jennell is one of the kindergarten teachers there, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to grab a few minutes with her and share the news of the latest chapter in my life.
To make my long story a bit shorter, Jennell was great. I was so concerned with what her reaction might be, and told her this prior, so she promised to have none. And she did a great job! Thanks Nell!
But this nevertheless convinced me that I either need more practice delivering this sort of information face to face, or that I should just use email!
I also told my friend Nary last Friday, in person. But she was driving, which meant we no prolonged eye contact. That was good. And because we were driving up to Assi Plaza, a good 20 minutes, I had time to give her the long drawn out saga, similar to what I've written here.
Now, everyone else with whom I've shared so far, knew that I was awaiting biospy results and had a chance of receiving that information Friday afternoon. So it was a simple yes or no. Good or bad. I emailed Elise, texted Elizabeth, and messaged Carole and Annmarie via FB.
I called Marc at work as soon as I hung up with the doctor, but couldn't reach him. My sister Linda called a minute later, knowing from my Mom that I could have news that afternoon. So she was the first person I 'told'. Disbelief. We spoke for awhile, and she agreed to share the news with my parents, as Nick was already home and Gaby soon would be. We also agreed that her new high risk status as a result of my diagnosis meant that she needed to call her doctor and set up regular screenings.
By the time Linda and I were getting off the phone, Marc was calling back. More disbelief. And a promise to come home asap!
In sharing with Jennell, I also asked that she pass along this information to those at school who should know: Gaby's teacher, principal, guidance counselor, some of the teachers who teach specials like art, techonology, etc. Once Gaby and Nick are in on what's going on, my hope is that nothing will change at school. It will continue to be their safe and fun place where they can just be themselves, be students. Be with their friends.
But in case there are changes in their moods, behaviors, grades, or in the case of Gaby, discussion of what's going on, because she lives up to her name, I would like those at the school to be aware of the situation.
I need to contact the elementary school guidance counselor to ask for advise in how to share this with my children. She's a wonderful woman who's been there since Nick's elementary school days, and she also faced off against cancer several years ago. So I think she can offer both professional and personal advice.
I want to tell them before the surgery. That day, I will need to be out the door too early to put Gaby on the bus first, so she'll have to go to a neighbor's and will want to know why! If not for that, I might have waited til after the surgery. But not too long after, as we're flying to Winnipeg on the 26th of May, and I'll have to wear a compression sleeve on my left arm due to the risk of lymphodema (another post!) I don't want to lie about why I'm wearing it, so by then, they'll know.
I want to share this news with them before the surgery, enough before the surgery so that they can process the information, and hopefully pose their questions and concerns. But my surgery is May 11th, Mother's Day is May 9th, Nick's School of Rock shows are May 7th and 8th, with final rehearsal May 6th. Marc leaves town tomorrow and isn't back til May 6th. May 5th is open house at Gaby's school. Maybe I'm overthinking this, but I don't want the news to be disturbing and disruptive to all that's going on. I don't want to tell them on Mother's Day. Not what you want to remember looking back on Mother's Day.Which is also why I'm not having the surgery this Tuesday, May 4th. (The doctor's at the surgical centre Tuesdays, which we both prefer to trying to do this at the hospital) Who wants to remember their 15th birthday as the one when Mom had her cancer surgery? We even changed his allergy shot appointment next week, to Monday from Tuesday, so he wouldn't be receiving those shots on his birthday!
So right now, Nick and Gaby do not know.
And right now, I think I should put to paper, the thoughts and explanation that have been swirling in my head for almost two weeks now, for my friends and family, here and faraway, and get that email out! For now, I will exclude Pier, Manon and Nathan. Manon is writing her final, final finals for medicine next week. The 5th is the last day. Pier and her Nathan are getting married on May 28th, and are in the midst of wedding and travel plans. I could tell Nathan, but I don't want him to have to keep it from his sisters. So I'll share it after the wedding.
I reread my first two posts on this here new blog, and the tone is a bit depressing! I must stress that I am not perpetually bummed out! I'm still procrastinating, and busy, the house still isn't as clean as you'd think a SAHM's would be, nor is the yard anywhere near shipshape. I still get annoyed with the kids, Marc, the dog, and still laugh and have fun with them, and my friends. I sitll bitch and moan about petty things, mostly to myself, and still marvel at those who can't. Keep their bitching and moaning to themselves, that is. And by that I mean strangers. Girlfriends, well, that's one of the reasons we're there for each other, isn't it?!
Life hasn't really changed. The dog still steals food whenever she thinks she can, Gaby's shoes are still all over the house, Nick doesn't remember that he's now tall enough to reach the towel hook, and Marc still misplaces everything. I still grab a baby wipe to spot clean the doggie dust bunnies instead of having a set day to vacuum, and still have to send the kids down to the dryer to find the latest clean clothing item out of the dryer. I'm still cooking, coming up with meals that satisfy 1/2 of us all of the time. Marc and I were all about the chicken scallopini last night; the kids, not so much! They preferred the breaded cutlets from the night before, of which there would have been leftovers had I not left them in the oven, off of course, for the 24 hours following dinner. I should be putting the sand in the cracks of the patio right now, and instead I'm blogging! Things really haven't changed much.
I am so thankful for all of the great people I'm surrounded by, both literally and figuratively. I'm blessed with so many great people in my life. Strong. Supportive. Considerate. Caring. Just all around awesome! I love you all and thank you for the privilege of sharing the good, the bad and the ugly. And for sticking by me through all of that. The battle's just begun, but with all of you behind me, and beside me, cancer doesn't stand a chance! Love you all!!
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
How It Unfolded
I scheduled my yearly routine mammogram a bit late this year. I can go mid-February. For my Canadian friends and family, the 'can' is the health insurance company. They cover a yearly mammogram, so they must be at least that far apart!
But I forgot, and by the time I got around to scheduling it, my appointment was March 24th. A Wednesday. The day Marc returned from almost 2 weeks away in Singapore and Australia. The day after Nathan's 21st birthday. Just an ordinary day.
And it was. My appointment was early afternoon, so as not to interfere with our after school stuff. As usual.
But instead of receiving a form in the mail, with the 'everything's OK' box checked, I received a phone call, the following Monday.
Monday March 29th.
First day of spring break. We were in the midst of painting eggs and lunching with the Smiths and Blankemeyers. Nick had gone to the allergist in the morning for testing, coming home with 32 pokes of varying size and redness. He was resting upstairs. The phone rang, and I was told that it was necessary to schedule a follow up mammogram, and ultrasound. During the day. When the doctors are there. So they could look at the images right away. (I should mention that I go to our local hospital's offsite location for my mammograms. close. easy parking. and you can't get lost inside the facility)
I hung up the phone and had to get back to eggs and lunch. With that familiar feeling of dread hanging over me. Worried. Anxious. The 'what ifs' racing through my mind.
However, it was spring break, so ultimately, our busy week dulled that dread. Nick headed to the shore on Wednesday with his friends (and parents of course!) Gaby and I were occupied with her book club, sleepovers, the park, hanging with friends, the things we do when there's no school. So my anxiety diminished, not to return til the night before my appointment.
Wednesday, April 7th.
Mammogram 1:30, Ultrasound 2:20. The usual, no deodorant, perfume, etc. I go to a Breast Centre for my mammograms. The people there deal with this all the time. Every day. They're professionals. And they're all women. From the first sympathetic and supportive look I received from the registrar who realized that I had indicated my most recent mammogram to have been two weeks prior, I actually felt better. No pity, just understanding. Concern. Support.
I brought a book to pass the time, but once we got started, there wasn't too much down time. Mammogram. Tackle a few pages. Ultrasound. A couple more pages. Listen to the radiologist's findings and recommendation. A biopsy. Whoa. Now we're moving along to the next step. Definitely not routine anymore.
The radiologist explains I will be scheduled for an ultrasound guided biopsy. Same facility. My doctor requests that his patients be fast-tracked. As opposed to non-fast-tracked, which I can't understand the need for. I'm given the names of 5 breast surgeons that my doctor would recommend. I choose the lone female in the group, not for that reason, but because she's the only one located in an office offsite. Away from the hospital. And I do notice that her business cards, sitting amongst a sea of doctors' cards, are in the big box they come in, almost empty, as opposed to the others in regular little business card holders. So I figure she must also be the choice of many.
I have a nurse assigned to me. Her name is Anne. She tells me that I will leave, with my biopsy scheduled, as well as a pre-procedure appointment with the breast surgeon. Standard procedure. The doctor will have to look at my films, which I'll also leave with, to decide if she's in agreement with the biopsy.
Anne sets up the biopsy appointment for the 14th. One week. She's has to duck out to the adjacent room to set up the doctor appointment, as there's no phone where we are. After a bit of back and forth to confirm my personal information and schedule, she comes back with an appointment for me, for Monday the 12th.
Anne tells me they do 7 or 8 biopsies daily at this facility. Eighty percent of them are benign. She had one herself last year. She leaves her last name and number among the papers in my pink folder that comes home with me. Along with my films.
Anne tells me I can call that number if I have questions. She checks messages several times a day.
Despite facing the next step, I feel better than when I woke up that day. The people who work at places like this deserve so much more recognition than they get. They are so very kind and supportive. They have mastered steps and procedures that leave their patients feeling well taken care of and reassured.
Monday, April 12th.
Appointment with the breast surgeon. She confirmed the need for the biopsy, made sure my questions and concerns were addressed, and we agreed we would talk again once the results were in her hands. I should mention here that the lump in question, though 1.5 cm , couldn't be detected by the doctor. Or me.
Wednesday, April 14th.
We had tickets for the Lion King the night before, so I knew I could count on Marc to be home to put Gaby on the bus. My appointment was at 8, but I was to be there at 7:30. Again, no deodorant, perfume. I know the drill.
The biopsy is done in an ultrasound room. The same person who did the ultrasound last week. Mary. The same nurse who now has me assigned to her. Anne. And the doctor performing the biopsy. Lee. Dr, that is.
Details aren't necessary, except to note that Anne held my hand throughout the procedure, advising me to squeeze if the pain was too much. The possibility of excessive pain is at the beginning, the needle they use to administer the lidocaine, novocaine, whichever it was. It didn't really take that long. I think my recovery took longer. It might have been the fact that I didn't take the time to eat anything that morning, or it could have been stress. In any case, I was actually light headed and a bit delirious when I was allowed to sit up. So I was provided with peanut butter crackers and fruit punch, which did help.
I left with strict instructions to apply ice packs, restrict phyical activity, avoid baths, and leave the bandage on for at least 5 days. I was very uncomfortable that first day, stayed in a sports bra day and night for those 2 days following, and developed some attractive brusing. I also left with the knowledge that the results would be provided to the doctor that Friday, Monday for sure. Anne suggested I call the doctor's office Friday afternoon, as there's a good chance they'll have the results and may not get around to calling.
The biopsy was done on a Wednesday, and Gaby stayed home sick Thursday and Friday. Normally that's fine.A sick child needs lots of cuddles. Normally that's fine too. But she always seems to snuggle in on my left side. Which is now my bad side.
At this point, my children know nothing and that's the way I want it. And that's a whole other post. So this was the start of concealing it from them.
Which is why I waited til 2:30 on Friday to call my Dr.'s office. Nick gets home at 2:45, so I wanted to be alone in my reaction to whatever news I would receive.
I sat down at the island in the kitchen at 2:30, phone in one hand and my trusty pink folder in the other. Pen and paper at the ready.
The receptionist answers, puts me on hold, the doctor picks up and gives me life changing news: "there is a finding that must be dealt with" .
In the next two sentences, in what context I can't recall, the words "breast cancer". We set up an appointment for Monday morning, 8:30, to plan our attack. I receive assurances that it is treatable and there's no reason to think otherwise.
Friday, August 16th. It's confirmed. I have breast cancer.
But I forgot, and by the time I got around to scheduling it, my appointment was March 24th. A Wednesday. The day Marc returned from almost 2 weeks away in Singapore and Australia. The day after Nathan's 21st birthday. Just an ordinary day.
And it was. My appointment was early afternoon, so as not to interfere with our after school stuff. As usual.
But instead of receiving a form in the mail, with the 'everything's OK' box checked, I received a phone call, the following Monday.
Monday March 29th.
First day of spring break. We were in the midst of painting eggs and lunching with the Smiths and Blankemeyers. Nick had gone to the allergist in the morning for testing, coming home with 32 pokes of varying size and redness. He was resting upstairs. The phone rang, and I was told that it was necessary to schedule a follow up mammogram, and ultrasound. During the day. When the doctors are there. So they could look at the images right away. (I should mention that I go to our local hospital's offsite location for my mammograms. close. easy parking. and you can't get lost inside the facility)
I hung up the phone and had to get back to eggs and lunch. With that familiar feeling of dread hanging over me. Worried. Anxious. The 'what ifs' racing through my mind.
However, it was spring break, so ultimately, our busy week dulled that dread. Nick headed to the shore on Wednesday with his friends (and parents of course!) Gaby and I were occupied with her book club, sleepovers, the park, hanging with friends, the things we do when there's no school. So my anxiety diminished, not to return til the night before my appointment.
Wednesday, April 7th.
Mammogram 1:30, Ultrasound 2:20. The usual, no deodorant, perfume, etc. I go to a Breast Centre for my mammograms. The people there deal with this all the time. Every day. They're professionals. And they're all women. From the first sympathetic and supportive look I received from the registrar who realized that I had indicated my most recent mammogram to have been two weeks prior, I actually felt better. No pity, just understanding. Concern. Support.
I brought a book to pass the time, but once we got started, there wasn't too much down time. Mammogram. Tackle a few pages. Ultrasound. A couple more pages. Listen to the radiologist's findings and recommendation. A biopsy. Whoa. Now we're moving along to the next step. Definitely not routine anymore.
The radiologist explains I will be scheduled for an ultrasound guided biopsy. Same facility. My doctor requests that his patients be fast-tracked. As opposed to non-fast-tracked, which I can't understand the need for. I'm given the names of 5 breast surgeons that my doctor would recommend. I choose the lone female in the group, not for that reason, but because she's the only one located in an office offsite. Away from the hospital. And I do notice that her business cards, sitting amongst a sea of doctors' cards, are in the big box they come in, almost empty, as opposed to the others in regular little business card holders. So I figure she must also be the choice of many.
I have a nurse assigned to me. Her name is Anne. She tells me that I will leave, with my biopsy scheduled, as well as a pre-procedure appointment with the breast surgeon. Standard procedure. The doctor will have to look at my films, which I'll also leave with, to decide if she's in agreement with the biopsy.
Anne sets up the biopsy appointment for the 14th. One week. She's has to duck out to the adjacent room to set up the doctor appointment, as there's no phone where we are. After a bit of back and forth to confirm my personal information and schedule, she comes back with an appointment for me, for Monday the 12th.
Anne tells me they do 7 or 8 biopsies daily at this facility. Eighty percent of them are benign. She had one herself last year. She leaves her last name and number among the papers in my pink folder that comes home with me. Along with my films.
Anne tells me I can call that number if I have questions. She checks messages several times a day.
Despite facing the next step, I feel better than when I woke up that day. The people who work at places like this deserve so much more recognition than they get. They are so very kind and supportive. They have mastered steps and procedures that leave their patients feeling well taken care of and reassured.
Monday, April 12th.
Appointment with the breast surgeon. She confirmed the need for the biopsy, made sure my questions and concerns were addressed, and we agreed we would talk again once the results were in her hands. I should mention here that the lump in question, though 1.5 cm , couldn't be detected by the doctor. Or me.
Wednesday, April 14th.
We had tickets for the Lion King the night before, so I knew I could count on Marc to be home to put Gaby on the bus. My appointment was at 8, but I was to be there at 7:30. Again, no deodorant, perfume. I know the drill.
Details aren't necessary, except to note that Anne held my hand throughout the procedure, advising me to squeeze if the pain was too much. The possibility of excessive pain is at the beginning, the needle they use to administer the lidocaine, novocaine, whichever it was. It didn't really take that long. I think my recovery took longer. It might have been the fact that I didn't take the time to eat anything that morning, or it could have been stress. In any case, I was actually light headed and a bit delirious when I was allowed to sit up. So I was provided with peanut butter crackers and fruit punch, which did help.
I left with strict instructions to apply ice packs, restrict phyical activity, avoid baths, and leave the bandage on for at least 5 days. I was very uncomfortable that first day, stayed in a sports bra day and night for those 2 days following, and developed some attractive brusing. I also left with the knowledge that the results would be provided to the doctor that Friday, Monday for sure. Anne suggested I call the doctor's office Friday afternoon, as there's a good chance they'll have the results and may not get around to calling.
The biopsy was done on a Wednesday, and Gaby stayed home sick Thursday and Friday. Normally that's fine.A sick child needs lots of cuddles. Normally that's fine too. But she always seems to snuggle in on my left side. Which is now my bad side.
At this point, my children know nothing and that's the way I want it. And that's a whole other post. So this was the start of concealing it from them.
Which is why I waited til 2:30 on Friday to call my Dr.'s office. Nick gets home at 2:45, so I wanted to be alone in my reaction to whatever news I would receive.
I sat down at the island in the kitchen at 2:30, phone in one hand and my trusty pink folder in the other. Pen and paper at the ready.
The receptionist answers, puts me on hold, the doctor picks up and gives me life changing news: "there is a finding that must be dealt with" .
In the next two sentences, in what context I can't recall, the words "breast cancer". We set up an appointment for Monday morning, 8:30, to plan our attack. I receive assurances that it is treatable and there's no reason to think otherwise.
Friday, August 16th. It's confirmed. I have breast cancer.
Me??!!
Cancer? Unbelieveable! Me? No way! It's always someone else we're talking about, whispering about, feeling sorry for, making meals for, praying for. Not me.
Breast cancer? That can't be. I have breast cancer?
That's difficult to say. I have breast cancer. Difficult to accept.
My new reality.
I was trying to come up with something clever, like BCD, ACD (before cancer diagnosis, after cancer diagnosis) But the truth is, right now, 10 days after hearing the words 'there is a finding that must be dealt with', and then in the next sentence or two, 'breast cancer', it's not dominating my days the way I always thought something like this would.
I thought there would be this constant feeling of dread hanging over me, keeping me from falling into a peaceful sleep at night, and the first thing that would come to mind upon waking. To compare, disagreements with Marc, or behavior issues with my kids have elicited these feelings. On several occasions. So I'm really surprised that 'breast cancer' isn't crossing my mind every 5 minutes.
You know how when, you either want to get pregnant and can't, or you don't want to be pregnant and your period's late, pregnant women are everywhere? That's kind of how it's been since I received a call to come back for a repeat mammogram and ultrasound. Television commercials for the many cancer treatment centres in our area. Donation solicitations in the mail for the American Cancer Society, St. Jude's, Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, you name it. Granted, there have also been requests from The Red Cross, Habitat, and Haiti Relief, but those don't get my attention as readily these days.
I'm afraid to tell people. I think they'll start looking at me differently. Truthfully, I have several friends and acquaintances who have battled breast cancer in the last few years, and everytime I see them, I think of that. One of Nick's classmate's mothers, whom I cross paths with maybe once a year now, faced off and beat breast cancer four or five years ago. That once a year, when I see her, I still recall that.
I'm not sure why. Is it because breast cancer, as a woman, is so much more relateable and consequently, feared? We can certainly empathize.
My dear friend Elise and I were talking about this the day after my diagnosis. As someone who was diagnosed with mental illness several years ago, she compared her situation to mine, in that some people seem to view her differently now. She's always been very open and honest about it, as I would like to be.
I don't think 'mental illness' when I see Elise. Now, perhaps that's because I see her quite regularly. I do realize that hers is a lifelong battle. She appears to be coping well. I don't view her differently.
We agreed that a cancer diagnosis is almost always thought of as a battle for your life, and one that some folks don't win. That might be why I look those people differently. Why I always think of that.
And now, I'm one of those people!
Right now, the few people who know, don't look at me differently. At least I don't feel like they are. They are awesome. They are loving. They are supportive. They are on my side. They're determined to help me through this. For that I am so very thankful.
Breast cancer? That can't be. I have breast cancer?
That's difficult to say. I have breast cancer. Difficult to accept.
My new reality.
I was trying to come up with something clever, like BCD, ACD (before cancer diagnosis, after cancer diagnosis) But the truth is, right now, 10 days after hearing the words 'there is a finding that must be dealt with', and then in the next sentence or two, 'breast cancer', it's not dominating my days the way I always thought something like this would.
I thought there would be this constant feeling of dread hanging over me, keeping me from falling into a peaceful sleep at night, and the first thing that would come to mind upon waking. To compare, disagreements with Marc, or behavior issues with my kids have elicited these feelings. On several occasions. So I'm really surprised that 'breast cancer' isn't crossing my mind every 5 minutes.
You know how when, you either want to get pregnant and can't, or you don't want to be pregnant and your period's late, pregnant women are everywhere? That's kind of how it's been since I received a call to come back for a repeat mammogram and ultrasound. Television commercials for the many cancer treatment centres in our area. Donation solicitations in the mail for the American Cancer Society, St. Jude's, Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, you name it. Granted, there have also been requests from The Red Cross, Habitat, and Haiti Relief, but those don't get my attention as readily these days.
I'm afraid to tell people. I think they'll start looking at me differently. Truthfully, I have several friends and acquaintances who have battled breast cancer in the last few years, and everytime I see them, I think of that. One of Nick's classmate's mothers, whom I cross paths with maybe once a year now, faced off and beat breast cancer four or five years ago. That once a year, when I see her, I still recall that.
I'm not sure why. Is it because breast cancer, as a woman, is so much more relateable and consequently, feared? We can certainly empathize.
My dear friend Elise and I were talking about this the day after my diagnosis. As someone who was diagnosed with mental illness several years ago, she compared her situation to mine, in that some people seem to view her differently now. She's always been very open and honest about it, as I would like to be.
I don't think 'mental illness' when I see Elise. Now, perhaps that's because I see her quite regularly. I do realize that hers is a lifelong battle. She appears to be coping well. I don't view her differently.
We agreed that a cancer diagnosis is almost always thought of as a battle for your life, and one that some folks don't win. That might be why I look those people differently. Why I always think of that.
And now, I'm one of those people!
Right now, the few people who know, don't look at me differently. At least I don't feel like they are. They are awesome. They are loving. They are supportive. They are on my side. They're determined to help me through this. For that I am so very thankful.
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