Pink Story: Cancer

Monday was October 1st.  I had a long day ahead.  Parent/teacher conferences were supposed to begin on October 2nd, but the schedule only allows for twenty four 15 minute intervals to meet with parents during those 2 days.  I had 30 students.  I needed more time, so I stayed late on Monday to meet with a few parents.  I stayed until 6:00.  I was beginning to lose my voice. My cold after my biopsy had escalated a little since I hadn’t taken much of a break.  I know I sound awful when I am losing my voice, but I talk anyway.  Parents probably wondered why I wasn’t home in bed.  I sounded horrible.  I didn’t feel horrible, but I definitely sounded like I was on the verge of death.  If only parents knew how often I teach when I feel crappy.  I give 110% for their kids.  They may look at me and think I’m not doing enough.  They have no idea.  I put the education of their child higher than my own health.  

During the conferences I received a call.  When the last parent left, I returned the call.  I had no idea what I would hear on the other side of the line.  Her name was Jill, she began telling me what I could expect over the next few months.  Before she began detailing my timeline she asked if I wanted to hear the pathology report from my biopsy.  I told her that would be a good idea.  I hadn’t been told much that Friday before.  Jill explained that what I had was called “ductal carcinoma in situ, cancer of the ducts.  The in situ was the most important part.  It meant that this cancer was non-invasive.”  I felt like someone I loved had slapped me in the face.  I was in shock and snapped into reality at the same time. “So it is cancer?” I asked.  I had to quickly take in the fact that I had cancer because she was still talking.  I’m not sure how I did it, but I continued listening and writing down everything she said.  I was sitting alone in my classroom.  Except for the janitor, I was the only one in the building.  It was like a business meeting.  I had my place at the curve of the kidney bean table as if on an important business call.  I had my pen in hand.  Only I wasn’t taking notes on a student, I wasn’t recording what an important company would do.  I was taking notes on what the next year of my life was going to look like because I was diagnosed with cancer.

Jill said I would be put in contact with a surgeon.  I would probably have genetic testing because I’m so young.  After the surgery they will probably want me to go through radiation therapy, she told me.  It is unlikely that I will need chemotherapy, she assured.  I should write down everything, because even though I think I will remember all this and what day I did what, I won’t.  I need to make a medical timeline.  I need to get my family history of cancer.  I need to write down all the medications I take.  Amidst all this overwhelming news, I can tell you that Jill was wonderful.  She answered all my questions.  She gave me her cell number telling me I could call her anytime.  She was my advocate and was ready to help me in any way she could.  I didn’t contact her a lot over the next few months, but knowing I could was very helpful.  

I drove the 0.8 miles home in shock.  I kept repeating the sentence, “I have cancer” over and over trying to believe it because it didn’t make sense.  Periodically, I would pretend that this was all a mistake.  It was someone else’s mammogram they saw.  There wasn’t anything on my mammogram, they were just making this up so they could make more money.  It was that unreal.  I knew because of my family history that one day this might happen, I didn’t expect it to happen at 35.  I was going to have to call all those people I talked to on Friday and tell them that it was all wrong.  It was worse.  I didn’t have accurate information.  I really did have cancer.  I really did.

"What if" World

Avoid the "What if" World.  Nothing good ever comes from there.

Anyone who goes down the path of the "what if" finds bad results.  The worst always happens.  In the middle of our thoughts about an email, we imagine it's someone who is upset.  When we get a call from a boss, we imagine it is bad.  We might create a scenario where we have messed up our job even if we haven't.  The call from the doctor leads us down a path of "what ifs" that land us in the hospital.  The noise outside is not the wind, but someone lurking.  The person that makes us feel whole and complete might change their mind or suddenly start to see our faults.

Whenever the unknown comes upon us, we travel down the rocky, mountainous, negative path in our mind. There are two problems with this habit.

The first problem is that if the reality is not negative, we have traveled this difficult path unnecessarily.  The second problem is that if the reality is true, we have traveled the path twice.

It takes effort to avoid "What if" world.  It takes control and work.

My trick for avoiding that world is that I spend hours writing my thoughts and sorting through them.  Many people go through tough times, I've learned that writing gets these thoughts out of my head and helps me organize them.

Some might think that it is a good idea to begin a new "What if" world where the positive happens.  The email is a compliment, the boss is happy, the doctor is calling to say that all is fine. The wind picked up outside. That person isn't going anywhere.  There are just as many problems with this world.  Things may still not go the way our brain imagines.

Instead, let's just be here.  Let's enjoy each blessed moment and let's attack the others the best we can without traveling too far down the path so that we have to double back and do it again or simply be forced to change directions all together.

Flee the "What if" world.  Live today!

Pink Story: It's Not Exactly Cancer

Historically, I’m not very good at being sick.  Don’t get me wrong, I love laying around and watching television, sleeping all day and having people wait on me, but that’s not usually what happens.  Usually I get sick the day after I decided not to clean up the house, the day after I took a day off and the laundry has become a clothes volcano, the dishes look like skyscrapers on the counter, the dog hair is forming into new animals on the floor and my youngest daughter has begun to draw pictures in the dust.  I can’t do anything about it, but I sure would like someone to.  

So, I am sick and helpless, I stay away from the mess hoping that “out of sight, out of mind” really works, but it doesn’t.  I know the house is a mess.  I can’t solve that problem and my family has their own list of “to dos.”  They can’t help.  I close my eyes.  I change the channel.  I know it is more important for me to rest and be healthy, I know the housework isn’t that big of a deal, I know that I’m the only person it bothers. All that knowledge does little good for the battle inside me.  I change the channel and try not to think about it.  Maybe I can pay someone to clean it up.  

I stayed down most of the weekend.  Later, I would find out that my need to rest because I didn’t feel well had nothing to do with the biopsy.  Most people bounce right back from those biopsies, Fortunately, I wasn’t most people and I wouldn’t do anything the way most people do.

Friday afternoon I got a call from someone at the doctor’s office.  I don’t remember who it was or what their title was.  I thought I heard them say something about radiology.  I know it wasn’t a doctor or nurse and I know it was a male.  He told me that the biopsy results were in.  It was a precursor to cancer.  If I left it alone it would probably turn into cancer.  They will want to remove it.  I amazingly felt relieved.  I had a sense this wasn’t going to be nothing, but if it had to be something this is the best something it could be.  All they will need to do is remove it.  I will hear from my doctor and get more information next week, but it was nice to have some information for now.  

I was sharing with a friend that my greatest emotions came with the unknown.  This was known, there was a plan of attack.  I was nervous about surgery and recovery, but not as scared as I was before.  The unknown is terrifying.  It plays with your mind and it takes all your energy to keep your mind under control.  

I called everyone and told them what the mysterious person said.  I told people at church.  I texted family and friends that were looking for a quick answer.  We all breathed easier.  It wasn’t cancer.  It was something that happens before cancer, but it wasn’t cancer.  I relaxed that weekend.  I felt a heavy weight lift from my shoulders.  It was going to be okay.  I finally started to breathe again.

Contribute

My 15 year old daughter cleaned up the kitchen and offered to make dinner all while feeling exhausted.  She said she felt like she needed to contribute.  Where did she get that?

I appreciate and am amazed by her responsibility and willingness to be helpful, but she was doing it while not taking care of herself.  I was thankful for the opportunity to tell her that she has to make sure she is healthy. She has her own list of things to do each day.  Among them is listening to her body and taking care of herself. It won't hurt if the dishes don't get done because you don't feel well.

I didn't hear the phrase, "take care of yourself" enough at her age to believe it was really what I was supposed to do.  It was what people said, but they meant, "work harder." I'm thankful I can speak these words to her.  Even though it will still probably take her many years to practice them, I'm glad these are the things she is hearing now.

Pink Story: Needles and More Pictures

“The doctor is going out of town on Friday.  Can we reschedule your biopsy for Wednesday?” asked the nurse on Tuesday afternoon.

“Tomorrow?” I confirmed.

I asked for Wednesday afternoon off with a note that I might need Thursday off.  I wouldn’t have to wait until Friday.  I would get it over with.”  I finally told the people I work with what was going on.  It’s amazing how letting people in on your life actually relieves a lot of the weight.  I am no longer walking around carrying this heavy secret.  I stayed late Tuesday night preparing for a substitute.  

 I went to school Wednesday morning.  Right before lunch I informed my students they would have a sub for the afternoon.  Of course they asked where I was going, I just told them I had an appointment.  Then I remembered to breathe.

I walked into the special breast imaging center, the same one where I had my second mammogram.  They took me back where I changed into my favorite shirt.  I went to the back room where they did another mammogram.  They needed to make sure they knew where everything was and that nothing had moved.  After they were pleased with the picture, they took me into the room where the biopsy would take place.  I was terrified and cold.  I tried to hide my terror behind a calm demeanor.  The nurse got me a warm blanket.  Oh, the pleasure of a heated blanket!  I may start putting blankets in my oven at home just to have a warm blanket to sit under.  The nurse talked with me a little about what they were going to do.  She had me sign a consent form.  As we were waiting for the doctor and technician to join us we began talking about books.  She had read some amazing books.  Every good book I mentioned she had read, every good book she mentioned I hadn’t heard of.  I tried to place them somewhere in my head where I would remember their titles or authors, but in my state of mind I couldn’t even remember the nurse's name.  We chatted for a while.  I began to relax, then the doctor came in.  He explained, again, what would happen.  I had to tell them my name and birthday.  They made a green mark on my left collar bone so they would be sure they are working on the correct side, they officially stated what they would do, then I signed again.

The next step was to get onto the table.  I had to lie on my stomach.  My left arm was out of my sleeve, my left breast literally fell through the hole in the table.  They placed a pillow by my head.  My left arm was straight down at my side.  My right arm was curled up by my face.  They tried to ease up the pressure on my hips by putting a pillow there.  The person who created this table never had to lie on it.  It was a table.  There was no cushion.  It was contoured slightly, I might as well have been lying on a board.  I was uncomfortable physically and emotionally.  I don’t know if that is the right category to put how you feel when your body is in a strange and vulnerable position, its the only word I can think of.  The nice nurse who told me about the books stood on the side of the table I was facing which was the side facing the wall.  She had about two feet of space to squat down so she could look at my face. She tried to talk to me and keep me somewhat distracted.  I kept getting more tired and uncomfortable.  I just wanted to close my eyes and wait for it to be over, but I would open my eyes when she came over and try to have a conversation with her, nodding at her words and trying to add a few of mine. Even in this state, I was trying to be polite to this nice lady rather than doing what I really wanted to do. 

Because of the location of the calcifications, it took them a long time to get my breast in position. The technician would clamp my breast, take a picture to see if she was in the right spot, unclamp, readjust, take another picture and repeat.  She repeated this series at least 10 times.  They had to find the correct spot for the needle to go in.  They couldn’t move the needle, but they thought they could move me.  Finally, she got it in the right spot.  It was time for the numbing needle.  I love that in order to be numb to pain that we know is coming we must have a little pain.  The doctor stuck me with the local anesthetic many times.  Fortunately I only felt it the first time.  Then it was time for the biopsy.  The machine was set up so the needle would enter my breast in a certain spot and take out a piece of tissue, then it would come out and go in another spot.  It would move in a circle like a clock going in and out 12 times.  I felt a slight vibration on the table, but felt no pain.  The nurse kept chatting with me, the needle was doing its job and now my right arm was falling asleep.  I couldn’t move.  They had me in the perfect place.  If I moved they would have to redo what they had done, so I lay still.  Finally, the biopsy was complete, but the poking wasn’t.  As the anesthesia was wearing off it was time to insert the clip.  Because the biopsy often removes some or all of the calcifications and future doctors need to know the location that all this occurred, they insert this metal clip which will only show up on x-rays.  The doctor had to inject me with more anesthesia, then one more needle would insert this clip. The clip was like a small flag saying “I have conquered!”  Not unlike what soldiers do when they take a territory.  My breast had been taken, it had been conquered with 12 deadly sword attacks.  I was defeated.  They took a few more pictures.  Then I was released from the clamp.  The nurse who had been talking to me had to put pressure on the hole they created for 5 minutes to stop the bleeding.  She cleaned it up, taped on some gauze then sent me off for another set of pictures. I went back to the mammogram machine that I had begun with that day.  The technician squeezed and took pictures.  She needed to be sure the clip was there and in the right place.  The squeezing restarted the blood flow.  I was embarrassed when I realized I had gotten blood all over me and the machine.  I wouldn’t have gotten it on myself if someone had told me what to do with my arms.  I folded them and squeezed the blood right onto my arms.

I was instructed to get dressed.  They would let my husband know I was done.  I could go home and rest.  I needed to stay out of the shower for 24 hours.  I needed to refrain from lifting for 5 days.  I needed to leave the bandage on for 24 hours.  They gave me some pain medication and sent me home.  I quickly called the school and told them I wouldn’t be in on Thursday.  The anesthesia made me a little queasy that evening.   I ate very little.  The next day I began getting a cold or some sort of thing.  I was weak and tired.  I was pretty sure the biopsy hadn’t caused that.  It was just good timing.  Perhaps it was brought on by 2 weeks of stress.  I’ve learned over the years that stress will make me sick faster than any bug or germ.  Unfortunately, the stress was only beginning.  The results of the biopsy would come in 2-3 days.  I would rest and wait.

Accept Your Broken Parts

I've been broken and will probably be broken again.  I'm not talking about the parts you can see, but the ones that hide from the world and try to hide from me.

So much of what happens to us in our lives shapes us.  Beginning in childhood each event begins molding us and sometimes breaking us.  I don't feel like talking about my broken pieces because I don't like looking at them.  I don't like looking at the reasons I do things or don't do things.  I think it reminds me of the past's control over me.

I remember what happened last time and, like a child who got burned trying to retrieve the cookies out of the oven, I avoid the situation rather than confronting it or finding a way to rise above it.  In reality, a simple pot holder keeps away the burns and gets the cookies, but it's easier and sometimes feels safer to stop making cookies.

It's okay to be broken, it's okay to have things about you that may not be what you would design.  You are you.  You are amazing, broken pieces and all.

A broken person isn't like a broken dish.  We don't throw away broken people.  Broken people are more like a broken can of Pillsbury biscuits.  Once the can is broken, the biscuits find their way out.  After a little heat, they are the most useful they can be.

Pink Story: Normal

I tried not to make too big of a deal of this biopsy.  If it turned out to be nothing, I didn’t want to have over-dramatized the situation.  However, since I didn’t know the future and only knew the present, I still had to deal with every thought and feeling in the meantime.

So far, I’ve had a routine mammogram, had a follow-up mammogram and been told I needed a biopsy.  Nothing has really happened yet, nothing is really known yet, but I was a mess.  I went to work the day after my loving encounter with people at church.  

I went through all the motions.  I didn’t tell anyone what was going on.  I thought I was doing quite well until I got into my car to go home.  I broke.  I broke hard.  I cried all the way home.  The weight was back and it was getting heavier.  I immediately called my mom when I got home and asked her if I was normal.  

"This wasn’t a big deal." I told myself.  She had had biopsies.  She had never told me about crying all the way home.  I must be making a bigger deal out of this than it was.  I must be just worrying about nothing.  

My mom assured me I was normal.  We talked for a while.  She let me know it was okay to cry, it was okay to be worried.  I was ok.