The Cancer Coaster

I wanted to go all this week without posting about cancer. I really didn't want to think about cancer at all, except that's hard because certain parts of my boob remind me several times per day that it exists. Since I'm writing about this journey for more than just myself, I think its important to acknowledge this aspect of cancer.

Cancer causes crazy.

Cray cray.

Crazy pants.

Crazy Crackers.

Yes, cancer causes people to become all of those things. There is no telling when I could go from a sane, rational mother of 5 to Crazy Crackers mom who can't remember what she did eight seconds ago. (and, I'm sorry Noah, I have no clue what I did with your birth certificate that I just saw two days ago. The air ate it. I will get you a new copy.)

Then there are the strange, "out of body" type fits of irritation that are not like me. I go online and find that other women have described the same things, and I feel slightly better that maybe I'm NOT crazy. Perhaps, just maybe, I'm a little stressed? Its possible.

 Last week while I was still waking up from anesthesia, I found out my lymph nodes were cancer free. This is a major piece of information because it means I don't have to have chemotherapy, just radiation only. Then two days later my surgeon called me at 8:00 pm. He wanted me to have a good, worry-free weekend, so called to tell me that he did, indeed get all the mass out of my breast. (It has clear margins, for those who know the lingo.) I was thrilled. No chemo for me, for sure! YAYAYAY

Tomorrow morning I meet with my surgeon for a one-week follow up, and to go over the final pathology results. I was just getting ready for bed, looking forward to this early appointment because it won't mess up my whole day. And then suddenly I remembered something! Just before surgery when my surgeon came to talk to me, he listed what all they'd be doing in surgery, including that they would be doing an Oncotype DX test that would give them more information about my cancer. I had heard of this test in the breast cancer forums, but didn't really pay a whole lot of attention to it.

Then I had a brilliant idea:

"I should look up this test and see what kind of information it will give me!"

Why why why why why why why do I do this stuff to myself????? Especially when Dean is already in bed for the night so I can't tell him about it. (instead my poor sister gets the late-night messages.)

The Oncotype DX test looks at the cancer cells from the tumor, watches their activity, does some math then determines the likelihood the cancer will return. You can follow the link for all the details if you want, but if you're already bored with my cancer talk, and how I am/am not dealing with things, just know that I need a number below 18.

A number below 18 means I do NOT need chemo. Nope, not at all.

A number above 31 means the benefit of chemo outweigh the risks of the drugs. It will give me extra assurance that my invasive cancer will not return.

But a number between 18-31??? That means indecision. It means I will have to think, and weigh the risk vs benefit factors involved, and decide whether or not I should have chemo. Me. Stand on a teeter totter and decide which end to walk off of.

I hate this roller coaster. Hate. Hate is a strong word, but so is Cancer. I hate cancer. I hate the crazy. I want it to be July and all of this behind me. My birthday is the last week of June. It'll be an awesome birthday!

Stupid Cancer!

Lumpectomy Post Op recovery

Part of my blogging about this cancer journey is for me, but also so that others coming behind me can be prepared. This is the information I looked for that I had a hard time finding.  I'm going to be very honest, and sometimes that may mean more details than you are comfortable with. Guess what? Breast cancer involves talking about things like nipples, breasts, milk ducts, and all things related to them. If you are uncomfortable with those words, please pray you never develop breast cancer.

I have two incisions. One is about 1/2 inch above the nipple and about 4 inches long. The other is near my armpit and about 3 inches long.

The first couple of days the most painful area was where the lymph node biopsies were done, which is near the armpit. The body chooses which are the "sentinel" (or first) lymph nodes to filter fluids from the breast, so when the doctors decide to find those nodes, it means sometimes those first nodes are not right near the surface. No, my first three sentinel nodes were a bit deeper, meaning muscles and stuff needed to be moved.

My chest has been wrapped in a large ace bandage to keep pressure on the area. Yesterday I was able to remove that bandage to shower for the first time. Ummm wow…. That bandage was covering the fact my boob looks like it was pummeled with a baseball bat. It only feels slightly better than that. It also only took me a second to remember what the surgeon told Dean when he was done working on me, "I had to take a bit more tissue than I expected." Umm yeah. Not all things are pointing in the same direction they used to be and…well…divots are for golf courses, not boobs! I'm told some of this will fill in with fluid as I heal. I hope so.

Today, day three after surgery, I'm still *really* tired. I've never been so tired so many days after a surgery. The anesthesia and complimentary drugs must have been a bit different this time, because I'm wiped out! Yes, I have cancer, but this was a very slow-growing cancer that wasn't yet affecting my general health. Maybe its just a combined problem of coming home with Audrey, finding out I have cancer and all that stress, getting the house ready for me to be out of commission for a few days, and then surgery itself?

I have a couple update posts coming about the kids. I'm tired of talking about cancer. Next week I'll have a visit with my surgeon and oncologist, but until then, lets talk about the FAMILY, shall we???

So many things!

There are so many things on my mind right now. This post will be all over the place, just like my thoughts are lately.

First, let me talk about stupid cancer. It is keeping me awake at night. My moods vacillate between angry, confused, sad, irritable, accepting…..and then there is nervous. I can't help but be nervous. In the scheme of things, a lumpectomy is nothing. I have had MUCH more invasive procedures done than this. But really, its the waiting for the lymph node biopsy that makes me nervous. If the cancer is in my nodes…….

Abel had an amazing day at school today. His best  yet. He had a really tough time while I was gone. Thankfully he has awesome staff at school who care about him, and understand how his previous environment caused so much damage that we all have to work so hard to fix. And that some of it may never be fixed. I pray the coming days continue to be good ones. I'm glad we've come up with a plan to keep his days as consistent as possible.

Angela and Axel have a teen dance coming up. Angela is SO very excited. Dances are her thing. Axel will like it too. He's not as excited as Angela because he doesn't get what I'm telling him yet. When we get there he'll be happy he's there.

Asher. The love. He's just a happy guy. He's vying for attention right now, soaking up all the extra he's getting as we make a point of letting him know his place in the family is so important. Now he's the big brother to a sister 6 weeks older than him. He is loving his role and very proud to show Audrey all the things big kids can do.

And Audrey. Oh this child! Every day she melts Dean and I into a puddle of mush as she bats her eye lashes and flashes her grin. She is pure light and joy. Our other kids are happy kids, but Audrey….she is different. I wish I could explain it to you. She twirls to music and showers us with hugs and kisses, or convinces us to sing "Head Shoulders Knees and Toes" for the 75,000th time and we do it because she's such a joy to watch when we do. She is understanding so many directions right now, and every day surprising us with something we didn't know she knew! We have found it works best for Angela to go to bed first so she can fall asleep before Audrey comes in. With that came the discovery that Audrey gets a second wind in the evening when its just her with her mama and Papa, and she is hilarious to watch.

I have found the last few days I've been a bit irritable, and as I stop myself from snapping at someone I wonder where this irritability is coming from. Then I go on the breast cancer forums to discover I'm not alone. It is just part of the emotional journey through breast cancer. I still can't believe I am typing those words. Breast cancer. Two little words which cause my stomach to twist into knots and bile rise in my throat. Words that cause a tear to roll down my cheek. Even as I refuse to claim parts of it, I know the story is already written. I want to turn to the last chapter to see the ending, but the pages have been torn out. I can only know the outcome as I experience each event.

Telling My Child I have Cancer

Of the five kids here, Angela is really the only one who has the language to understand about Cancer and what is ahead. Axel will understand that mom is "sick", as will Asher and Abel. Audrey is not even close to being able to comprehend at this point. I decided Axel will do best having things explained to him as they happen. But Angela…Angela knows something is up. The hushed whispers, the tears, the anxiety hanging in the air. I don't think its possible to hide cancer from my kids.

I didn't really know how to do this. I didn't plan a certain script. Angela is 17 but developmentally around 7-8 years old. Its hard to predict what she will understand about this so I figured simple facts and she'll ask questions as we go through this journey.

Today Angela and I went for a drive. A couple minutes down the road I turned down the radio.

"Hey!" she said, annoyed that I was messing with her tunes.

"Honey, I want to talk to you about something really important. Can you talk with me for a minute?"

Her eyes got big and wide. She folded her hands in her lap and turned to look at me. "Ok, lay it on me mom!" she said.

"Angela, do you know what Cancer is?"

"Huh?"

"Have you heard of the word Cancer before?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what Cancer means?"

"You die." she said, blinking big. Then, counting on her fingers, "Grandma Spring having cancer and she died. Rubee having cancer and she died. Shep having cancer and he died."

I took a deep breath, swallowing hard to control the tears that were already threatening. "You're right. Sometimes people and animals who have cancer die. There are lots of different kinds of cancer. Inside our bodies are tiny little pieces called cells. They're like puzzle pieces."

"I have Down syndrome. I have an extra puzzle piece."

"Yes, that's right. Cancer is a different kind of puzzle piece. Inside of us are our organs, like our heart and lungs…"

"and my esophagus."

"Yes, and your esophagus. All those parts are made of cells. But sometimes those cells don't grow right. They get all confused and they start to grow wrong. Cancer means having mixed up cells in your body. We found out that Mommy has cancer."

"You will die?" she asked me, her eyes like giant brown saucers.

Oh dear God….this is so hard.

"No honey. Grandma had a kind of cancer that the doctors didn't have medicine for so she died. But I have cancer in my breast. Next week I'm going to have surgery and the doctor will take the cancer out."

"You get an IV?!" she asked excitedly, because she loves all things related to the hospital.

"Yes, I'm going to have an IV. The doctor will take my cancer out, and then I will come home. When I'm all better from surgery I'm going to have special X-rays every day for a long time. Those X-rays will find any sneaky cancer cells that might be hiding in my body. The doctor says I'm going to be just fine."

"Ok. You not dying?" she asked?

"Nope. Not dying. Just surgery."

"Ok. Great Mom! Can you turn the radio back on?"

Nobody should need to have this talk with their kid.

Stupid cancer.

Meeting with the Surgeon

Monday afternoon

For Christmas Dean had given me a gift card for a local spa. Last week I scheduled myself for a one hour massage and foot scrub. That was before I knew I had cancer. Before I knew that later today I would be meeting with my surgeon and oncologist for the first time.

Today I laid on that massage table, crying silent tears while the massage therapist did her thing.

When my massage was done I didn't feel all tingly like I usually do. My tense muscles didn't feel any different than they did before. Stupid cancer.

I picked up Dean from work and we drove to the breast center in relative silence. I knew what was going through my mind, but what was going through his? Disbelief that he is living through this again? That lighting can, indeed, strike twice?

They called our name and brought us back to a small conference room. "We're going to leave Dean here while we do another ultrasound. The MRI showed another small area we need to take a closer look at."

For real?

Stupid cancer.

The radiologist dug around my breast with the ultrasound probe. Finally she found the spot they were looking for, buried deep in the breast tissue. She studied it carefully for several minutes. "It looks like an intra-mammary lymph node. They are usually nothing concerning, but when you have your surgery we'll probably look at it closer."

From there I was brought to an exam room and a few minutes later Dean was brought in too. Then my surgeon entered and introduced himself. He started with a breast exam. It suddenly occurred to me I will have more breast exams in the next few months than I've had my entire life. The words of my friend came back to me, "Say goodbye to your modesty."

Dr. S. sat down and tried to get to know us a little bit, then finally said he was trying to get an idea where our understanding of biology was. Dean laughed and assured him I probably know almost as much as he does. I laughed, feeling a bit embarrassed. Dr. S said he had gone over the MRI images with the radiologist, along with the new ultrasound of the intra-mammary lymph node, and invited us back to the conference room so we could discuss everything. We were introduced to one of the clinic nurses who would be taking notes during the meeting. Wow..a notetaker? I've been through many very intense meetings with medical specialists before, and never been provided a notetaker. Did I really need that? I almost said, "Thank you, but I don't think we'll need you to take notes." But a tiny voice in the back of my mind stopped me. "For once, let someone else do the work for you. This is your first lesson in accepting help."

I sat back and tried to concentrate on what the doctor was explaining. He stared at the moment of conception, explaining cell biology, mitosis, meiosis, and DNA replication. I wanted him to hurry up and get to the cancer part. Finally he got to epithelial cells, and what goes wrong in their duplication and how they become carcinomas.

I have two types of cancer:

Ductal Carcinoma In Situ, which means the cancer is still within the ducts, and Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, which means the cancer has broken through the lining of the duct and is spreading to other tissues. These invasive cells can travel to the lymph nodes, sending them to other parts of the body.

My cancer is 2 cm, which makes it a stage 1 cancer. However, if at the time of surgery it is found to have spread to my lymph nodes, this will change. 

My cancer is estrogen positive, which means it is estrogen fed. Removing estrogen from my system means cutting off the energy source for this type of cancer. I'll have to take medication for the next several years. The medication turns off the estrogen receptors. It will put me into menopause, or have my ovaries removed and take a different medication. (this is more probable because I have a significant family history of strokes) 

My cancer is HER2 negative. That means it is not producing a specific protein. HER2 positive cancers are much more aggressive than mine.

Twice during the meeting my phone rang. I had to keep it on because Noah was at our house getting the kids off buses. Twice there were calls because of issues at home. It gave the doctor a good sense of what our life is like, and how I'm always "on call". 

At some point the doctor asked me, "When you were told you had cancer, what was the first thought that came to mind?"

I started to cry. One of those cries I couldn't really control. Finally I said, "The first thing I thought was, "I don't have TIME for f-ing cancer." He looked me in the eye, "I'm glad to hear that. I'll tell you that over the years I have learned some things. Everyone has instinctual responses. I've learned that for people who's first thought is something related to death and dying, they have a much more difficult time with treatment, no matter what the treatment, than those who are a bit more stubborn about things. You'll need to learn to take care of yourself, but I think this will be just a speed bump in your life, and nothing more."

He continued to explain all the different surgical options that go along with various stages of breast cancer. Right now I will need only a lumpectomy followed by six weeks of radiation along with several years of medication to block the estrogen receptors. A few weeks of treatment, and then I'm done. With this protocol my cancer has a 5% chance of recurrence. 

And  here is where I get irritated with cancer again. I had already decided I would have a mastectomy in a few months, but the surgeon assured me this is not necessary with this type of cancer, that it doesn't change the outcome. So even though I have breast cancer, I don't get to buy the t-shirt that says, "Yes they're fake, the real ones tried to kill me." This should be a good thing, I know. But my mind is doing funny things right now. 

Nope, I don't even get a boob job out of the deal! The Dr. explained I may have some shrinkage on one side from the radiation, but that I don't really need a breast lift at this time because I have no sagging. Ok, normally I would have taken this as a compliment, but in this context I was a bit annoyed. "What? I don't even get a boob job out of the deal?"

And yes, I know more about boob jobs than most who haven't  had it done. I have done drains and a 27 inch incision from hip to hip. I know I'd rather have a mastectomy and reconstruction done preventatively than in a more urgent manner. 

Well, because I have breast cancer, I can talk to a plastics person anytime I want, and I could even get a boob job if I wanted. Its just part of breast cancer. But I think I'm pretty lucky I get to keep my natural boobs and will leave them alone. However, I reserve the right to change my mind.

When the meeting was done I was given a 3-ring binder full of information, including the contact information for everyone in the clinic and what their roll is. Its almost like they've done this before. I was also given the 4-5 pages of notes the nurse had taken for me. 

On Weds, April 2nd I'll be having a sentinel node biopsy followed by a lumpectomy. This is outpatient surgery and I'll only be at the hospital a few hours. I was told, "Because of the size of the lump and its location, the incision will be small and you'll be back in the trenches the next day without restrictions."

Really? With Dean sitting right there the dr. couldn't even give me two days of "stay off your feet and rest?" 

Stupid cancer. 

The Waiting

Sunday

The radiologist had told me we should have the biopsy results by 12:00 on Friday.  Thursday night Dean and I cried ourselves to sleep. Tears of fear. Dean's previous wife, Fae, died from breast cancer in 2001. How could this happen to him a second time? Maybe its not cancer. Maybe its just a benign lump and we can leave it alone?

They told me the results should be in by noon, but if I hadn't heard from them by 1:00 I should call. At 10:30 I picked up the phone, then put it back down. Dean needed to leave for work but he wanted to be home for the results. He waited as long as he could then at 10:30 he left reluctantly. He gave me a hug. There was still some time for denial.

At 10:45 I picked up the phone and dialed. I got the voicemail of the nurse practitioner and left my information. How many other women were calling for their results today? How many women are diagnosed with breast cancer at this one clinic on any given day? On this very day, how many other women were as afraid as I was? How many others were hovering over their phones, waiting?

At 11:00 I called again. The nurse practitioner answered, "Oh, I've been watching for your results from the lab. I'll call you the moment I get them!"

11:35 a call from my mom: Anything yet?

11:50 text from my sister: Do they wait until 11:59???

At 12:30 the phone rang. I knew it was her. I gulped for air.

"Hello?"

"Hi Leah, its N. " She sounded friendly, " We haven't met yet, but I think I passed you in the hallway of the clinic yesterday. I heard all about your family."

"Yes, I'm sure I was hard to miss. I was the one freaking out. Was I still standing or was I on the floor when you saw me?"

She laughed, "No, you were on the way to the conference room with your husband. Dean, right?"

"Yes, Dean."

Oh Lord. She is very friendly. She can't have bad news. She's too nice for bad news.

"Can you verify for me your date of birth?"

Oh…her voice had changed. It was suddenly not so light. Still friendly, but more serious.

I gave her the information she needed and I realized I was holding my breath.

So much trouble breathing lately.

"I'm sorry to say, your biopsy was positive for breast cancer."

And somehow, at that moment, I was ok with this. Well, not ok, but my fear was gone. Now that I knew for sure, I was no longer afraid. My brain kicked in, and I started to ask semi intelligent questions.

What type do I have? I am lucky enough to have two types of cancer: Ductal Carcinoma In Situ (DCIS) and Invasive Ductal Carcinoma (IDC)

What is the treatment? It depends upon the results of the MRI and lumpectomy. It will either be lumpectomy and radiation, or mastectomy and chemotherapy.

How far out can I schedule surgery? The surgeon will discuss that with you but you're a couple weeks out from surgery.

She scheduled me to have a breast MRI on Monday morning, and to meet with the surgeon and/or oncologist (I can't remember which!)  in the afternoon to go over the results.

I hung up the phone and called Dean. I took a deep breath and told him the results.

I had to tell Dean I have cancer.

Then poor Dean had to go back to working, being happy and chipper to his customers,  knowing I have cancer. Knowing lightning found him a second time.

Then I called my sister. And my mom. And then I went into the bathroom, stripped off my clothes and stood in the shower in the hottest water I could tolerate.

I have cancer.

For real.

I stood in that hot water and cried. I didn't ask God why. I didn't ask him how. I just asked him to make it all ok. I told him I didn't have time for this! HE brought these kids to our family, WHY THIS? I begged him to not let me die. I have kids who need me. Dean needs me. And I knew then that I have always known I would get cancer someday. I always knew. I have odd little fears about things I have always kept to myself, like don't stand close to the microwave because those invisible waves scientists say are safe could trigger the cells in my body to go crazy. And here they are. They did it. They went haywire. And now I have to fight them. I have to. There is no choice. Cancer found me.

Over the weekend I had so much to get done, but I couldn't do a thing. All I wanted to do was sleep the weekend away so that Monday would come. Being awake meant listening to my brain screaming "CANCER CANCER CANCER CANCER." I would pick up a shirt to fold, "Oh my God I have breast cancer!" Wiping off the kitchen counters, "I have breast cancer." Holding sweet Audrey. "Cancer!"

Dean walked into the kitchen for something and I hugged him. I clung to him. I whispered into his ear "I can't believe I have cancer."  "I know." he said. "I know", and he held me, and we cried quietly so the kids wouldn't know we were crying.

And he held me while I cried.

So many tears.

If only I could sleep it all away.

I have breast cancer.

I can't believe I'm typing these words right now.

Breast cancer.

In me.

In my breast. The one that is bruised and battered from the biopsy. Several times throughout the weekend I closed the bathroom door behind me and stood before the mirror. There it is. My breast that has cancer in it.

Shock.

Disbelief.

Emotions I have no words for.

Thoughtless thoughts because…because…there is just so much nothingness in my head right now. Numb.

I took the boys to buy shoes. The sales clerk and I exchanged friendly small talk. Suddenly I felt words wanting to come pouring out of my mouth, out of control. "I have breast cancer. I just found out yesterday. Yes. Really." I was shocked at this odd desire to make an announcement. I don't know how I kept the words inside my head. I wasn't even sure they DID stay there. Did I say it out loud? How did I prevent them from spewing their vileness on everyone around me? Where did that come from? Maybe I'm losing my mind now too??? Cancer is already making me crazy. For two years I have been carrying these death-causing cells inside me while they multiplied and did their nastiness to my body, and now the knowledge of them was making me crazy. Thankfully the sales clerk was not exposed to the thoughts in my head and her work day continued on as usual. The boys and I went home and I told Dean what had almost happened. I think he's afraid of me now.

Tonight, Sunday evening, I have diagnosed myself with PTSD.

Yesterday I was fine, today I have cancer

Thursday

Audrey saved my life.

My new daughter, who we just brought home, saved my life.

I had to have a physical for my adoption. This is standard procedure and required. I've had the same physical four times now, as every adoptive parent does. My doctor reminded me I was due for my annual mammogram. I scheduled it for a few weeks later then, in the excitement of getting ready to travel I missed the appointment.  I would have forgotten again but this time Dean reminded me. His previous wife had breast cancer and he wasn't happy with me for skipping a mammogram last year.

Dean insisted on coming along for my 9:00 appointment then we would get a coffee afterward before dropping him off at work.

 First I had the mammogram done. Nothing like having your breast pulled down all the way from your chin!!! The imaging screen was behind me, out of view. When all the images were taken the tech put them up on the screen so she could make sure they were good images and nothing needed to be re-done. I turned around to see them myself.

Suddenly I couldn't breathe.

This didn't look like my mammogram from 2 years ago. No. No it was very different.

The radiology tech said she needed to have the radiologist review the films. When she returned she told me I'd be having an ultrasound. I was brought to a little waiting area while they got the ultrasound ready.

There were a couple other women waiting with me, all of us in our white, scratchy clinic robes. I wondered if they were just getting screened. I wondered what they knew about their breasts. I wondered if they were as scared as I was. 15 minutes ago I wasn't scared, now I was petrified.

"Leah?"

The tech put the wand to my breast. I asked her to turn the screen a bit for me so I could see. I was in school for a year for sonography. I didn't finish (we adopted Asher instead) but I was there just long enough to know what I was seeing on the screen. "That's not a cyst." I said.

In my head I was screaming, "Oh my GOD that is NOT a cyst. I know that is not a cyst."

Breathe Leah. Just breathe.

I went back to the little waiting area again, but this time I was alone. There were no other women waiting because they had their mammograms and got to go home.  It was only a minute before the nurse came back to get me. "Do you have anyone with you today? The radiologist would like to talk to you."

I wanted to vomit. They don't ask to talk to you, and if you have someone with you, when everything is all good. This was not all good. I could feel it, all the way in my bones. Every cell of my body screamed "RUN!"

I waited in a small conference room while the tech left to retrieve Dean from the lobby. I noticed a box of tissues on a nearby desk and quickly grabbed a handful, shoving them into the pocket of my scratchy robe.

Dean came in and sat down by me.  I couldn't talk. I wanted to vomit. I was afraid if I opened my mouth some kind of floodgates would open and the result would be really bad. And then the radiologist, in her white lab coat, stood before us, the tech at her side with her blonde pony tail and her pink and purple scrubs.  "I've reviewed your mammogram and ultrasound. You do have a mass there that is small, but it needs to be biopsied."

That is when my world started spinning.

I buried my face in Dean's chest and sobbed.

But see...here is where the doctor didn't follow the script that was in my head. It was at this point she was supposed to say, "This is just a precaution. Chances are this will come back fine."

But she didn't say that. She just stood before us, waiting patiently while I composed myself. She said nothing.

She told us we would have the results back by noon tomorrow (Friday).

The radiologist and tech left to prepare the procedure room while Dean and I sat and waited.

"I can't have cancer." was all I could whisper. It was all I could think.

Couldn't this biopsy wait until Monday? Let me digest this for the weekend? No...no...they do not waste any time here. This is a breast clinic and this is what they do. There would be no waiting.

Just a few minutes later they came back to get me. Dean disappeared to the lobby while I laid down on the exam table. The radiologist put the ultrasound wand to my breast and I stopped her. "You see these all the time. What do you expect these biopsies to show?"

She took a breath. Her words were gentle and soft, but very firm, very clear. "I am honest with all my patients. You're scared and you want to know so there is no reason for me to be vague. I expect this biopsy will show that you have cancer."

"I need a number. Can you give me a percent?"

"Well...I would say I'm 95% sure."

And then I cried. One of those silent cries where you want to say something, I needed to say something, but my throat was too tight to talk and...again...I couldn't breathe enough to talk.

"I'm ok. I'm ok. I'm ok....." I said. While I tried to breathe.

And then I told her why I was upset. About our family. Audrey. Everyone. I can't have cancer.

I cried some more.

Finally I said, "Ok...lets get this done."

The doctor was so patient with me. How many times has she had a freaked out woman on this same table asking the same questions?

She put the wand back to my breast and I told her what I understood of the image on the screen. "You would have made a good sonographer." she said.

She painted my breast with antiseptic. She explained she would be inserting a needle with novocaine (or some other numbing stuff, I don't even remember.) and it would hurt a little. It did hurt, but not as much as my tooth last month. Then she inserted a second needle for deeper numbing behind the lump.

"Next I'm going insert a special needle. When I'm in the right position I will activate it. It makes a loud clicking noise but it should not hurt. If it hurts please tell me." The whole procedure looked just like this.

Courtesy Mayo Clinic Health Library

I waited for it to hurt. My whole body tensed up with the waiting.

CLICK

I tried not to jump but I did anyway. It sounded like a staple gun. There was a small tugging sensation, but no pain.

"I need to do three more just like that. I will tell you each time so you don't jump."

I asked her to show me the sample that was taken. It was about an inch long, and a thick spaghetti noodle. "There's my cancer." I thought.

I started taking deep, cleansing breaths like when I was in labor. Long, deep breaths to take me somewhere else. To a beach, with sunshine. Anywhere but here.

"Ok. Here is the next one."

CLICK

I exhaled. I didn't know I was holding my breath.

"Alright. This will be the third. I'm activating now."

CLICK

"Ouch. That one hurt a little bit. Not bad. Like a pin prick."

"That was the deepest one. This last one you should not feel at all. Activating now."

CLICK

"There. That was the last one. Now I'm going to place a small metal clip, about the size of a grain of rice, into the lump. This marks it for future reference so if a new lump were to appear we know this is the original one."

The tech bandaged me up. Then the doctor asked if I have a picture of my kids. I showed the pictures I took back in August, then of Audrey on the day she was removed from the institution. Skinny, with her head shaven and in ratty clothes. Then I showed her a recent picture. "She's beautiful." we said together.

"This is a small lump. I can't say for sure until we have the biopsy results back, but typically this is treated with a lumpectomy and 6 weeks of radiation. Very rarely is chemotherapy needed for this type of lump. Six weeks of radiation won't stop your life. You'll be a bit tired, but it doesn't knock you down like chemo does. I expect that you'll be meeting with the oncologist and surgeon on Monday. But sweetie, you are going to be ok. This will likely show a very slow-growing cancer. Its gonna be ok! YOU are going to be ok."

I hung onto those words. No, I clung to them as if they were a life-ring tossed to me while I bobbed and floundered in the ocean.

They handed me a bright yellow sheet of paper with post-biopsy wound care instructions, then walked me back to the small waiting area. There were three other women waiting. I sat down in a chair in the corner. I started to cry. I couldn't stop. The tears just kept coming. Here were three women, waiting for their own  mammograms, and here I sat, golden ticket in my hand, sobbing. One woman wiped a tear from her eyes while the other two hid behind their magazines. I realized I was freaking them out and tried to compose myself. I picked up a magazine. What does it say? I couldn't really focus on the words or content. There is a puppy in the picture. Cancer. Do I have cancer? I don't like how the room on this page is decorated. What will the biopsy say? I couldn't concentrate on anything but the words screaming inside my head.

Yet another tech came to get me for another mammogram. This one is needed to make sure that little metal clip is in the right place. As she started to position my breast on the plate, my whole body started to tremble. Like I was freezing only I was dripping with sweat. "I need to sit down." I said, and she quickly moved a chair to me. Apparently I was a bit pale. I just needed a minute. Just a minute. Why was I shaking all over? I realized I was a bit shocky, probably from being really tense about feeling pain during the biopsy. Probably from just being told I have cancer.

I needed to talk to Dean. He didn't yet know what the doctor said in answer to my questions. He didn't know the doctor said this was going to show I have cancer.

We took the couple of mammo films that were needed and I was finally allowed to get dressed. I got into the changing room and pulled out my phone to text my sister. My hands were shaking so bad I dropped my phone twice. I sent her some garbled text about "its not good."

I walked to the lobby and spotted Dean. He came to meet me as my phone rang. It was my sister. "I can't talk now." I said, and hung up on her. I couldn't breathe. I was starting to hyperventilate. I wanted to run..run away...I felt trapped. "Get me out of here." I mumbled to Dean. Really, I needed him to lead me because I didn't know where to go because I couldn't think.

We left the lobby of the breast clinic, and the eyes of others waiting, and stepped into the bigger, main lobby of the clinic. I lost it. Never in my life have I cried so hard. Dean just held me as I sobbed. I felt my legs give out under me and Dean held me up. Through choking breaths I told him what the doctor said. That she expected this to be cancer. "I can't have cancer!" I cried. I cried so hard. Dean cried with me and held me, there in the lobby of the breast clinic. And I became aware of women coming off the elevators, moving into and out of the clinic, going about their business, seeing this woman freaking out and knowing in an hour that could be them. Or for some, that was them just months ago and they know. They know the shock. The disbelief. I didn't want to be part of them.

Finally, after several minutes, I was able to catch my breath. Everything about today was about breathing. It was so hard to breathe all day. I had to call my sister back. I looked at my phone. A little over an hour.  In one hour I had a mammogram, and ultrasound, a biopsy, and found out I probably had cancer. It was only 10:30 a.m.

Yesterday I was fine, today I have cancer.