Waiting for Savasana

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Even Vacations Aren’t Very Fun

Or at least, I’m not very fun.  We went on a mini trip with the boys.  They were absolutely joyful.  Running around jumping and climbing on things, enjoying themselves.  I have to force myself to engage right now, and when I do, I find it exhausting.  I am trying.

We went to dinner.  It was nice.  The host walked by and noted we were all eating comfort food.  Husband had pot roast, eldest had fried chicken and mashed potatoes, I had salmon with more mashed potatoes and youngest had pasta with butter.  Can’t get more comforting than that.  Our family needs comfort.  There is no denying that.

There was a big party going on in the restaurant and this man stood up and gave a beautiful toast to his daughter on her fortieth birthday.

Her fortieth birthday.

And I sat there and cried a little into my mashed potatoes.

When I met the plastic surgeon last week, he smiled and said ,”Helluva Fortieth Birthday present, eh?”

Whatever, I spent my birthday in Paris and it was glorious. Breast cancer is NOT my birthday present.

But speeches like that about fortieth birthdays make me a little weepy I guess.

I am really trying hard not to feel sorry for myself.

Today was better.  I’m feeling ok.

When we got home, we turned on a DVR’d episode of “The Voice” and some country western girl starts talking about how she lost her mother to breast cancer…


And we did with a sigh of relief.

We don’t need to hear about that stuff.

I am not going to let this kill me.

And with that, I am going to link to an article sent to me by my dear friend and former roommate.  It speaks volumes about how to treat a patient and their family.  Please take a look if you have a chance.  HERE

As always, thank you for your support throughout this difficult time.



One Down, Two To Go

I found out yesterday that I do not have a BRCA mutation.  So that’s good.  Very good.

As my friend J texted, “Yay! You get to keep your ovaries!”

It’s looking good.

My surgery is scheduled for THIS Thursday 4/18.

I am excited to get this stupid, ugly, no good cancer out of me but I am scared as heck of surgery.  I’ve never really been under full general anesthesia.

And I don’t even want to think about the procedure itself.  Makes me throw up in my mouth a little.  Yick.  Good thing I get to be the patient and not think about the ins and outs of what is going to happen right, because it sounds horrific.

But I want this tumor out of me so bad.  I hate it.  It throbs at night from the biopsy and it scares me because I start to worry that its growing or something.

I don’t like you tumor.  You suck.

My birth mother sent me this mantra to my cancer and I am trying to repeat it as many times as possible:

“Found you out CANCER!  Got you on the radar!  You’re going nowhere but DOWN!  You are now under arrest!  in JAIL!  on HOLD! and going nowhere but into an incinerator!  So it is!  Thank you God!”

I am asking my husband to update on my Facebook and this blog once surgery is done.

I can’t tell you how much your support means to me.  The care and consideration is so uplifting.  Thank you for keeping me in your thoughts during this horrible experience.

Last night, I was sitting in my bed reading a magazine and realized I have never ever in my life spent so much time thinking about my breasts.  I realized that no matter what, my life is never going to be the same again.

I really, really like my life so yeah, I’m sad about this.

But I’m just one out of eight women you meet every day.  I’m just the average gal who got hit with the cancer stick at age 40.  Freakin’ 40.  So far 40 has not been one bit fabulous.

One of my hopes is taken care of: BRCA negative, baby!  I’m still focusing on clear lymph nodes and a low onca score.  Let it be!!!

As always, thank you for following me on this journey.


The Stages of Grief

Most people are familiar with the stages of grief original concept by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross






Yeah…I’ve been through three of the five stages.

Denial began when I noticed the nipple (I hate that word) turn in.  “Could be anything,” I said to myself.  “I’ll just keep an eye on it.”  But after a couple of weeks, it wasn’t getting better and if anything, it was deeper.

So I went to Disneyland.  With my friends.  And no, I didn’t take my children.  My children really don’t love Disneyland.  They won’t go on most of the rides and forget about rollercoasters.  There were people who gave us a hard time about leaving our kids at home but I ignored the haters.  I had a secret.

I told my husband that I was making an appointment to go to the doctor when I returned because something was wrong and all signs pointed to cancer.  And he kind of scoffed at that.  He did this partially because of his own fears.  His arm was hurting awhile back and apparently he had convinced himself he had bone cancer, but when he went to the doctor, he found out he’s just getting old.  SO he assured me that my experience would be the same.  But I didn’t think so.

I had a lovely time at Disneyland.  My time in the land of denial.  I drank wine, I went on lots of rides (including Little Mermaid eeeeeee!!!) and I spent quality time with my friends who I adore.  We rode Tower of Terror three times.  We went to fancy  dinner and I accidentally drank a $25 glass of Cabernet that was worth every sip of deliciousness.  It was an excellent retreat.

And then I came home and made the appointment.

You know the rest.  My doctor didn’t like the look of things and sent me to the main clinic for a mammogram and ultrasound.  That was on a Friday.  I couldn’t get in until Monday.

Crappiest Easter weekend ever.

But on Friday, I was all zen.  There was nothing I could do.  I wasn’t going to worry until I needed to worry.  I told my husband as much.

Then Saturday came.  I woke up still feeling zen.  My husband went off to play tennis.  I was ok with that.  I took my younger son to an appointment and I was keeping it together.  Cool as a cucumber.

And then after lunch I started googling.  And I freaked myself out.  Husband had to dart out to check out this famous tennis club.  He was on recon or something ridiculous (at least to me at the time).  I was slightly annoyed when he left.

The kids were watching t.v. and I was googling.  And unfortunately, I came across life expectancy rates.  Holy crap!  I had no business reading that.  And I kept reading.  I couldn’t look away.  Mothers of fairly young children who suspect they might have cancer have no business reading about survival rates. And I got really nuts.  Red Alert!  I’ve gone over the edge!

So I stepped away from the computer, took a deep breath and decided I needed to go to the grocery store and get eggs.  Dammit, it was Easter and we needed to color some eggs.  But my husband still wasn’t home.  Where the Hell was he?!  How dare he LEAVE me when I might have cancer.  When I might be dealing with things like “Life Expectancy Rates”?  I imagined him sipping a cosmo while I was here at home needing freaking eggs.

I told the boys to put on their shoes because we were going to buy some eggs.  They could tell from my voice that something was up and they hopped to it.  And we were off.

There were lots of eggs at the store.  I picked up two cartons.  But I couldn’t find any egg dye.  you know that PAAS stuff?  Couldn’t find it.  But I knew I could use food coloring we already had at home.  But I couldn’t find the vinegar.  WHERE WAS THE VINEGAR?!!  And I started to cry.  My eldest put his arm around me.  “It’s ok Mom.  We’ll find the vinegar.”

And this nice man showed us where it was (while probably wondering why the heck this seemingly rational woman was crying over vinegar).

We got a couple of other things and stood in line.  I had tears running down my face.  I could barely keep it together.  But the check out lady just ignored it and was nice as can be.  We grabbed our stuff and left.

And when we got back, my husband was home… and  here is where I truly (and unfairly) entered the ANGER phase..

Poor guy.

The boys went straight back to their bedroom and closed the door and started playing a game.

I am not proud of what happened next.  Needless to say it involved me yelling and screaming and throwing things.  I was a whirling dervish of panic, fear and rage.  And my poor husband bore the brunt of it.  It ended with me screaming about marriage vows and tennis and then running into the garage where I sat in a pile of dirty clothes and cried my eyes out.

My husband tip-toed in a few minutes later and bewildered said, “I thought we were going to be zen about this.”

“WELL YOU THOUGHT WRONG THEN, DIDN’T YOU?!!” was my pithy retort.

And then I cried some more.  I told him I was freaking out and that I needed him and that I didn’t appreciate him ditching me for tennis.

And then he promptly cancelled his tennis match for the next day (who plays tennis on Easter Sunday anyway?  I’ll tell you who, fanatics!).

Then I went into the kitchen and got out a pot and said, “I’m going to boil the eggs now.  We need eggs for tomorrow.”

And my husband said, “That’s great but where are they?”

Where are the eggs?

Huh?  We bought them!  We bought them.  But then we didn’t bring them home.

So my husband took the boys back to the store to get the eggs where the nice check-out woman was holding them for them.  It takes a village sometimes.

And my husband spent the rest of the weekend with me.  Just sitting next to me.  Sometimes he held my hand but he always stayed close.

I apologized for my temper tantrum and he said it wasn’t necessary and gave me a hug.

He’s a really good one.

Since my diagnosis, the anger I felt that day has not resurfaced.  I’m sad and scared and that’s about it.  I haven’t really gotten to bargaining because I’m kind of a realist when it comes to stuff like this.  I am hoping for clear lymph nodes, and a low oncoscore but I don’t think the universe is willing to trade anything at this point.  I don’t think that if I eat all my brussels sprouts or go to church every Sunday that it is somehow going to change the cancer I have.  I think this is it.  I don’t have anything to bargain.  All I have left is hope.

Coloring the Easter eggs didn’t make any difference.  Bargaining is just a distraction.

Mostly what I am feeling now is depression.  I’m trying not to let it drag me down but there it is.  I am just really sad.  But that’s better than being hysterically pissed off at the wrong person, you know?

I hope I can eventually get myself to the point of acceptance but I’m not close to there yet.  And I don’t think I need to be.  For now, I’m just going to live in the process and hope for the best.

With that said…THIS REALLY SUCKS.


And the Saga Continues…

I met with my surgeon today.  It went about as I expected.  She gave me more stats.

She also told me some new news that I am still processing and am feeling kind of sad about.  The glitch the MRI found on the left breast apparently was also on a cat scan I had done in 2009.  They went back and found it retroactively.  The problem I had back in 2009 was a ruptured ovarian cyst so the technician obviously wasn’t looking at my breasts.  I feel very conflicted about all this.  The good news is that the glitch hasn’t changed since 2009 so they are guessing it is a cyst or something.  But I am bummed that it was there at all, especially four years ago.  The thought kept me up last night.

Did you know that 1 in 8 women will get breast cancer in her lifetime?

And that’s just regular woman on the street.  The stat doesn’t even take family history into account. 1 in 8.

And BRCA.  Do you know about BRCA?

It’s a genetic thing and people who have a mutation on the BRCA gene have a much higher probability of getting breast and ovarian cancer than the average Jane.

I had the test last week.  See, I don’t know if many people know this but last year, around April, my birth mother was diagnosed with breast cancer.  She’s had quite an ordeal this year herself.  My oncologist seems intrigued by this development of two relatively young women, mother and daughter, being diagnosed with breast cancer within a year of each other.  At the end of our appointment she asked about our personal relationship…and I told her what I am going to tell you.  We met 6 years ago after years of looking for each other.  Our relationship is very complicated.  I don’t think even we can explain it.  It is also very, very personal and private and it is not something I share with many people. And I don’t feel like sharing it here.

I will also say that I am so extremely grateful that after living my first 34 years knowing almost nothing about my medical history, that finding her and learning about my genetic makeup will (hopefully) save my life.  I don’t know that I would have gotten my butt to the doctor in a timely fashion had I not known my birth mother was fighting breast cancer herself.  I probably would have ignored the signs. And because of what happened to my birth mother last year, I paid close attention to the signs.

So I am under age 45 and I have a close relative with breast cancer and that puts me at risk for BRCA mutations.  Yes, I already have breast cancer but if I test positive for BRCA, my chance of ovarian cancer shoots up from 2% for the average woman to a whopping 25-40%.  You bet your tush I took that test.

But for me, more importantly is that fact that I have sisters.  Three of them.  One from my birth mother’s side and two from my birth father’s side.  They are all significantly younger than me so maybe my test can help them.

Still I am really rooting for my BRCA to be normal.

Really, REALLY hoping for that.

Here are my 3 big hopes for the upcoming weeks:

1. Clear lymph nodes- Everything looks pretty good on the scans but we won’t know for sure until they test them at the surgery.

2. Normal BRCA test.

3. Low ONC score after surgery.-They send it all to a lab post surgery  to test and they score it.  The lower the score, the better.

Please direct your thoughts toward these three goals.

I’m really scared.



It’s 1 in the afternoon and we are still in our jammies.  I’ve been playing Candy Crush Saga all day.   Well until I ran out of lives and then I played this stupid Bubble Witch game I don’t understand. It’s a distraction.  The boys are watching a movie.  I did manage to load the dishwasher.  I am feeling quite inert.  Is that ok?

Probably not.

I’m not depressed.  I’m just here. And not feeling like doing much of anything.

I’m not sure how other people do this.

And of course I now wonder if I’m doing this right.

Am I doing this right?

This really sucks.

Eventually, I will have to get dressed and take the boys to tennis lessons. It’s a start I guess.



There are so many things to say WOW about today.  Want to hear the weirdest one?  Well, it’s not really weird.  Just weird for me.  I took a look at right boob today and holy crow it’s turned yellow.  A bright sunshine yellow.  My right breast is a perfect sunrise.  It’s practically day-glo.  That biopsy got me good.

I told my husband I just wish the radiologist had warned me the biopsy would make a huge *CLICK* when she took the sample.  I was all relaxed and happy that I hadn’t felt what I assumed was a giant needle (I didn’t look, I’m chicken) being inserted into my breast.  It didn’t hurt at all and then *CLICK* she clicked it while it was in my boob and it scared me enough to make me jump.  And that’s how I think I got so bruised.

My husband told me I have to stop blaming myself whenever anything happens.  He thinks I’m just fair skinned and would have been bruised regardless.

Who knows.

Well…I might have found out but I didn’t need to.  See, the MRI found a little action going on in the left breast and my oncologist wanted me to go for another ultrasound and, if necessary, another biopsy.

I was having coffee with my good pal when my husband called and told me the Nurse Navigator had called and I was to skeedaddle back up to the imaging center for more ultrasound fun.  You know, I liked ultrasounds a lot better when I had them on my belly and got to see my kids waving at me from inside.  I’d take that over a boob ultrasound any day.  Yeesh.

When I got there some hurried woman took me in and then the same lady who did my first ultrasound on old rightie came in to do leftie.  “Oh Hello.” I said, like we were old friends.

Needless to say, they didn’t find anything.  And they looked for a looooooonnnnngggg time.  So no biopsy.  I guess that’s good.

After that little ordeal, I went and helped at my kids’ school Walk-a-Thon.  It was fun but I felt like a phony.  Like I was pretending to be a healthy person.

I feel mostly ok except for a thobbing right boob.

I have this one friend though who I saw at the Walk-a Thon.  We started standing together at pick up way back when our kids were in Kindergarten.  We stood together and talked every single day for three years straight through to the end of second grade.  My family then left for a couple years but returned to the school last month.  The first day I go to pick my boys up and who is standing there all by her lonesome but my old pal M.  We picked up right where we left off.  Like no time had passed at all.  Now that’s a friend.

So I told her about my diagnosis at the Walk-a-Thon and she got teary and hugged me.  I didn’t want to make her teary but I also needed to tell her.  It’s all surreal.  I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.  I just know I can’t keep it a secret.  I don’t do secretive well anyway.

My friend gave me good advice about setting an example for my kids.  She’s a crack up.  I like people who don’t b.s. and my friend M is no B.S.er.  I love my friends.  Hey, at this point, I love my acquaintances.  I need all the love I can get.  Post diagnosis, I’m a love monster.

And speaking of love…the biggest WOW for me has been the amazing response I have received from friends and family near and far.  Lots and lots of love to go around.  Several of my friends ran marathons this weekend.  And a couple of them dedicated their runs to me.  I’m an honoree!  It’s crazy!

See, I’m used to running marathons in honor of others.  Now I’m the one with cancer.  How did that happen?  How did my life change so quickly?

And I think about the fact that my cancer is “slow growing” which also means it’s been there for awhile.  Maybe as long as ten years.  Ten years!  I can’t even wrap my brain around that.

It means that while I was running marathons to raise money to fight cancer, I was most likely growing my own cancer in my breast and I had no idea.  I ran two half-marathons a week apart back in October and I had cancer.  I HAD CANCER! That’s crazy.  That is insane.  I need to sit down and catch my breath over that one.


I called my mom today and she teased me a little about all the responses I have received on Facebook (still can’t believe I posted on Facebook that I have cancer).  See, if my mom had a dollar for every time she heard me say as a kid that no one likes me and I have no friends, she’d have at least a thousand dollars.  “Did you see all those people who care about you?” she asked me.

Yes I did. And I read the emails and the cards (people have sent me cards!) and a couple of my friends brought me flowers and one brought me candy and wine.  And people are offering to make us dinner.  And my friend J has just been a blessing throughout this entire ordeal.  I don’t know what I would do without my friends.

Several friends from far away are offering to come visit!  YES!  Visit me!  I love it.  I miss my far away friends so much.

And one dear friend even went on a wacky adventure with me on Saturday that I will tell you about sometime soon because it’s a really good story that deserves it’s own post.

And yes, I can see that there are people who really truly love me.

And I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

I just want you to know that I have felt your prayers, your vibes, your thoughts, your wishes.  And it is such a comfort to know that I have so many people cheering for me because I need it.

I have less than two days before I meet the surgeon and really get this ball rolling and the waiting is stressful and mind blowing and still completely terrifying.  But right now, in this moment the love I have received has brought me a tremendous amount of relief.

Thank you to everyone.  I love you all very much.




Thursday was a whirlwind of terror and hope.  Thursday was an experience.

We started by taking the boys to school.  The boys know I have cancer.  They basically figured it out for themselves.  At different times on Tuesday, each boy came to me and said, “What’s wrong?”  I told them I was having tests and that I would find out today what was going on.  Each boy asked me, “Do you have cancer?”  Wow… unexpected that they would jump to that conclusion so quickly.

I told them I might have cancer.  Each boy’s response was identical.  Neither boy was present for the other’s response but each boy ran to me, hugged me, cried and said, “I can’t lose you!”  I wasn’t expecting any of that.  I wasn’t expecting the conversation.  Of course I reassured them that if I had cancer, we would crush it.   I reminded them that we know people who have beaten cancer.

So then the diagnosis came and we all agreed we just have to kick this cancer’s butt.

And things have become strangely calm in our house.  There are lots of hugs and “I love you’s” Lots of family snuggles and cuddles. Lots of reassurance and, yes, even some gifts.  I took my younger child to his favorite store and bought him a pack of coveted Skylanders.  “Why are you buying me these, Mama?”

“Because we’ve had a really bad week and we deserve something nice but you have to share them with your brother.”

When we got home and big brother saw the loot he asked me if having cancer makes you nicer.  Hmph!  Good thing I love that kid so much.

But to get back to Thursday, my husband and I walked the boys to school and then we walked back home holding hands.  You know I am terrified when I need to hold your hand.

We drove up to the breast imaging center for my MRI.  It was interesting.  I got into the machine face down, belly down, arms over head with my boobs in a hole.  No kidding. they put ear plugs on me AND noise cancelling headphones because that machine is LOUD.  I had an i.v. in my arm because they have to inject contrasting dye toward the end.  They told me most people don’t react to the dye.  “You just get a metallic taste in your mouth.”

Uh huh.  Right.

You know where this is going, don’t you?

So I basically meditated throughout the half hour I was in that ginormous machine with my boobs in a hole.  I just counted my breaths and pushed out all the other thoughts because if I didn’t, if I thought about what I was doing here in the cancer center or if I thought of my boys and my husband or my family or the fact that my arms were starting to ache raised over my head this way, I was going to lose it.

But I didn’t lose it, I was doing ok.  The gave me a buzzer to press if I felt myself flipping out but I was alright.

And then they injected the dye.

I was ok at first.  I felt the taste and thought, “This isn’t so bad…this is ok.” and then SUDDENLY I felt this deep urge to toss my cookies.  I pushed the button.  Over and over and over.  There was no where to barf and I wasn’t supposed to move…and this machine costs millions!  Yikes!

In the end , I lifted my head and yakked in a paper towel on the side of the machine.  The ladies doing the MRI came out and gave me a little dish to puke in and said “We can keep going if you don’t move your boobs.  Keep your boobs still!” O.K. no problem.

So I finished, I put my head back down and we continued for another 15 minutes.  No biggie.

I told the technicians, “You should just put a dish right under where the face goes.”  They laughed and said “Oh!  We don’t want to scare people!”

Irony.  Am I right?

Well, I don’t want to wreck your machine with my vomit but ok.

So that was done.  We headed over to the mall for breakfast .  Then we wandered around.  I kept getting panicked in almost every store.  I would be ok and then suddenly I needed to leave.  I needed to leave NOW.  My husband was very patient.  “Whatever you need to do, Honey.”  So we walked and we sat outside and we went to another mall and walked some more.

And then finally, it was time to meet my plastic surgeon.  Apparently, most people meet the plastic surgeon last but he’s our first visit on this rollercoaster.  The breast surgeon is out of town until Monday and the Oncologist was meeting us that night.  My Nurse Navigator said that she felt I had a pretty clear idea of what I wanted so she set me up with Plastics.

The meeting went ok.  It was surreal though.  Just showing more people my boobs.  And them taking pictures.  Taking pictures of my boobs!  The surgeon remarked that my boobs had no sag after breastfeeding two boys.  I smiled and said, “Thanks for noticing.” 🙂

My husband was there for the exam.  He told me when the doctor left that my right breast is black and blue from the needle biopsy I had on Monday.

“Really?” I said, “I hadn’t noticed.  I haven’t looked.  My right boob and I aren’t speaking to each other right now.  I’m pretty mad at it.”

That made him laugh.

So then we went and had a bite to eat while we waited for our final appointment.  I had a BLT.  I wanted a shot of vodka but i thought it would probably not make the best impression to show up for a visit with a world reknowned oncologist in a liquored state.  Tacky.

It was pretty late that night when we met the oncologist.  A friend who is a Godsend was watching the boys.  I texted that it was going to take a awhile.

I was terrified.  There was so much we didn’t know that I knew we were going to learn.  I had a chest xray on Tuesday and hadn’t heard any results.  OMG was this crap in my lungs already?!!!  We had not heard a complete pathology of the tumor.  What kind of receptors did it have?  Could I beat this thing?  Did I wait too long to go in?  Is this stupid boob going to kill me?

I do NOT want to die.

The nurse asked me to take off my shoes to get on the scale, so I stepped out of my flip flops and slipped on my own sweat walking to the scale.  Sweat poured out from the bottom of my feet.  I was sweating that bad.  I’d been sweating all day.

This shit was real.

The Oncologist was lovely.  She explained a lot and she put things into perspective.  My tumor is “well-differentiated” which means it is slow growing.  My lymph nodes look ok (although we won’t really know for sure until after the surgery). My chest X-ray was clear.  HOORAY!  My cancer receptors (Estrogen+  Progestertone+ and HEr2 -) well, they are all receptive to treatment.

And there is a small possibility that I might not need chemo.  It’s a very, very small possibility but we will cross that bridge when we come to it.  I am prepared to do chemo but it scares the crap out of me.

It was a pretty good meeting, with a few hitches of concern that I won’t go into here as most are now resolved as non-issues, but this is doable.

Oh, and the doctor prescribed me Ativan.  I do ok during the day but at night, it gets to me.  I haven’t been sleeping at night.  I’ve been crying, and watching comedies on the DVR (Mindy Project made me LOL for the first time all week…it felt good).  Oh and I’ve been cleaning, at 3 in the morning.  Anybody who knows me, knows how completely crazy that is.

I took an Ativan when we got home that night.  I slept for 6 hours straight.  It’s a start.

Our next big meeting is with the breast surgeon.  I am leaning toward doing a double mastectomy with reconstruction.  Radical, I know but I don’t want to worry about recurrence on the other side.  I just don’t want to screw around with this and besides, I’ve never been particularly impressed with my boobs anyway.  Who needs ’em, right?

Bring on the c-cups!  Woot!

Thank you all for your support and positive thoughts.  Please keep them coming.  I may seem blase about all of this but I am terrified.  I need your support and love to get me and my family though this.

I am going to beat this thing any way I can.

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Lots To Do


I’ve been a busy bee.  I met with my “Nurse Navigator” yesterday for 3 hours.  Got the lowdown on what they know from my pathology report and what to expect.  It scares the heck out of me.

One ray of light is that the tumor is “normal differentiated” which means it is slow growing.  Fingers crossed… and toes.  I don’t know much else about the tumor itself.  Not all of the pathology has come in yet.  Ugh.

Tomorrow I get an MRI then meet with the plastic surgeon and then we are meeting with the oncologist.

Yes. I am scared.  During the day I can handle it.  Night time is tough.  I wake up and I am sad and terrified.  There’s nothing like being faced with one’s own mortality to really freak you out.

But life goes on.  And I still need to make dinners and take kids to appointments and get things done.

Telling people is also exhausting.

This is really, really hard.

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Got the Call

All I know right now is that I have breast cancer.  My physician called me and told me.

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you.” she said.

Me too.

But I knew.  I already knew.

I am meeting this afternoon with a “Nurse Navigator” who will tell me what the next step is.

I also already found a support group near my medical group.  I’m going to stop by there either before or after my appointment.

And I’m dyeing my roots as I type.

I’m not going to lie.  I have great hair.  Fantastic hair.

It looks like I won’t have it for long.  Might as well look good while I still got it.



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Well, This Is Unexpected

I am currently in a state of shock.  I learned yesterday that I most likely have breast cancer.  I am floored, and scared, and bewildered.  I went to my doctor last Friday because I’ve had some suspicions.  My boobs had been itchy and in the last few weeks, one of my nipples had inverted.  I was mildly concerned but I had a history of inverted nipples before I had my kids.  Well the doctor didn’t like the looks of things and sent me for a mammogram and ultrasound.  I knew when the lady doing the mammogram came back in and wanted more pictures. “The doctor wants a better look at… you.  A better look at you.”  She stammered.

Oh man.  I knew there was going to be trouble after that.  And there is.  A mass under the nipple.  The radiologist did a biopsy right there.

This sucks.  It just does.

I’ve cried.  My husband has cried.  We’re just waiting for the pathology report but I can tell from the preliminaries that it is not good.

How am I going to tell my boys that I have cancer?

And I am mad at myself for postponing a mammogram.  I turned forty last summer.  I went for my physical.  I went in to schedule the mammogram but was unsure how to work it into my schedule.  And then I kept postponing it because of work and my boys’ schedules and being busy.  Plus I did the self checks and my doctor had checked me too and found nothing.  She even checked me on Friday and found nothing.  It was right under that nipple.  It was hiding.

I figured there is an eight month difference between when I should have gotten the mammogram and when I finally got it.  I just hope those eight months don’t cost me my life.

My emotions are a roller coaster right now.  I don’t see myself getting off the roller coaster any time soon.

This really sucks.