Day 101 Dallas's Gift

I have a secret.  Silently, I have been incubating and nurturing it until it becomes strong enough to survive as a real truth.  All of my hopes have been pinned on it but I have had to allow it to become vivid before sharing it.  I have to believe it myself.

A little over a week ago I received the results of my PET scan, bone density, and complete biochemical screening.  My oncologist grinned like a boy as he told me that my bone density was that of a 20-30 year old, and with the exception of an elevated FSH (Follicle Stimulating Hormone, which rises when you begin to slow in ovulation) my body's measured biochemistry is that of a young adult.  Most importantly, my PET scan could not detect a single cell of cancer anywhere in my body.

I am as young as I feel and I am cancer free.  I will not have to have chemotherapy or radiation, only 5 years of Tamoxifen.  My husband and I pumped our fists and yelled: "Yes."   He told us we did everything right and that we were helped in that by educating ourselves and making educated decisions.  For sure, none of this would have been possible if I hadn't been hit in the chest by Dallas, a mammogram alone wouldn't have detected my carcinoma until it was much bigger, possibly stage 3.  He told us that our choice of surgeons, treatments, tests and attitude delivered me to him wrapped up with a ribbon; a survivor.

With a 3-5% chance of reoccurrance, odds are I will live to be an old woman with a great story about how a horse saved my life.

I still can't believe it.

Day 49 Road Trip

I took my post op trip to Birmingham yesterday to meet with my doctors.  Sadly, I was really excited about going.  You see, when you are recovering and confined to your room or your home nothing really happens to you.  You are insulated from the worlds activities and are slowly written out of life.  No longer in the flux and flow of living, you exist only to heal.

My children come home and tell me a little about their day.  I ask leading questions to get the small details out of them.  They are patient with me and try not to show their irritation with my detective work, but it's clear that they have things to do and are itching to get away.  My darling husband arrives after that and fills me in on happenings at work.  I have nothing to tell him that doesn't concern my meds, how I feel, or my level of pain.  I am not fun to talk to.

I woke up at 5:00 a.m. eager to load up and get the hell out of Dodge, but travelling is not a spontaneous thing.  I need my arm pillows, my drains emptied and stripped, my drain log updated and put in my travel file, my meds need to be placed in a travel case so I don't miss a dose, I need to dress in real clothing which is an ordeal and put on some makeup which I have to do like a Tyrannisaurus Rex because I can't lift my arms above my shoulders.  Forget about my hair, blowdrying is out of the question so I have to go with the poodle look.  I am on narcotics so none of this is easy and my lack of short term memory causes me to endlessly question my husband about our preparations.  Kindle, reading glasses, check book, insurance card, ID, notepad for questions and note taking.  It is nearly 7:00 by the time we prop me up in the passenger seat and embark on our epic journey.

We forgot to eat breakfast but after a drive thru at Chik fil a we were back on the road, arriving just in time for our first appointment.

All good news.  I am recovering at a fast rate, my margins were clean, and my lymph nodes empty.  I had undetected fibrocystic breast disease in my healthy breast, and more locations of invasive cancer in my other breast than was detected through the imaging process.  Happily those locations were small and didn't add much  to my 2 cm initial measurement.  My breast surgeon is sending my carcinoma to California for oncotyping, after which I will acquire my own personal ONCOLOGIST!  I can't wait.

My reconstructive surgeon took out two of my four drains which felt like my heart was being ripped out of my armpit.  My Tegaderm (sp?) dressing was removed and I saw and felt the uncovered sutures and freaked out.  I made him retape over the sutures.  Seeing them is unexpectedly traumatic to me and so is the fact that I have absolutely no feeling in my breasts, they are a blank spot in my body.  I lost it.

We came home and I went to bed.  I want to wake up refreshed and ready for my new reality.

Day 42 I Am Healed

A nurse came through the curtain with a clinking bag of sterile supplies and asked me the same question everyone has asked me since I arrived: " How are you?"  I answered the way most people want me to: "I'm fine."  I wiped the wetness off of my cheeks and put on my "brave" face.  Usually that's enough to make most people disappear back to the other side of the curtain, but not this woman.  "You cry if you want to, feel down if you that's how you feel.  You can't stop those feelings, just let them out.  You are going to be OK.  I know because I've been there myself.  Then she asked me:  "Are you a believer?"  I answered "Yes, I believe in G.d." She wasted no time in gathering me up tightly in her arms and she started praying over me.  She prayed for me, she prayed for my health, she prayed for my husband and asked the Lord to give him strength.  She petitioned G.d with a strong almost ferocious voice as she made her belief manifest, and then she asked me to state what G.d has already done for me, she asked for a statement of faith.  I answered "I am healed."  "And so it is." says she.  Those strong loving arms loosened,  she stood up and left.  I was weeping and my husband was crying, but they were tears of relief.  I had staked my claim on a full recovery, and I was no longer afraid. 

Very soon after that I got my shot of Versed and began my trip to the OR, I remember nothing for the next 5 hours.

I woke in searing pain.  "Wake up now, you are in the recovery room, the surgery is over."  I couldn't open my eyes for the life of me.  The nurses were talking about people they don't like, where they had dinner last night, talking to each other like two High School girls, incessantly and with complete absorption in each other.  I felt like someone who didn't belong in their clique.  I took a difficult breath and said through my raw throat: "pain."  My nurse answered back "we'll get you something soon." and went back to her real job, which is to speak to the other nurses about their personal business.  "Pain."  She ignored me, I am guessing that transitioning people out of surgery must be very boring for her, we must be so tiresome with our catheters and requests for pain medication.  Just demanding shapes under warming blankets asking for stuff. 

Eventually I was handed a button I could press every 6 minutes for pain and was rolled to my room.  That button was my best friend.  My mother-in-law told me when  the allotted time had passed and I pushed that button like a cat jumps on a bird.  Morphine is my friend, I forget all about the teenagers in recovery, my world is that button in my right hand.  All my strength and attention is on crawling out of this crater of agony.

Eventually I am the victor.  My pain is managed and all I feel now is relief.  This part is over, I never have to do this again, the margins are clean, we must wait for the sentinel node biopsy to come back next week.  I am optimistic, because I already claimed my healing.  Amen.

Day 41 Supergirl

I really haven't known what to write over the last few days.  Not that there hasn't been enough to write about, friends, my precious riders, volunteers, family, phone calls, messages, work, my lame horse, my lame back and presurgical preparations; there has been tons to write about, but my brain is too frazzled to hold down a thought.  When I sit down to write I end up staring into space watching my thoughts burn by me like asteroids.  Occasionally one will hit me and leave a dent, but it's never enough to knock me out of my orbit.  The planet I orbit?  Planet Thursday.

Tomorrow I will walk into surgery.  After that Planet Thursday will be a memory and I will be free to think real thoughts and make plans.  I will deal with the pain and rehabilitation, I do that pretty well.  Pain and strength building are old friends of mine and I will greet them with a strong handshake.  We will know how far the cancer has progressed.  This has been the big mystery of my life in these past days, but Thursday will answer that sixty-four-thousand-dollar-question and I will march forward on whichever path cancer designates.

I will turn my head a look back at the shards of Planet Thursday and hurtle towards the earth.  Like Supergirl.

Thanks to everyone for their conveyed strength, prayers and encouragement, I will blog again as soon as possible...my next entry may be a little drug addled though.

Day 27 Pitching

May 5th.  That's the morning of my surgery.  I found out two days ago, but haven't been able to write about it.  Today I received the presurgical packet from the reconstructive surgeon and it was full disclosure heavy, very intimidating stuff.  I have to sign every page, there are 7 of them and each one basically says "this might not work or worse."  I am still waiting on the breast surgeon's package, that should be a kick.

I told the girls at work about my date and we started hammering down teachers to cover my classes.  Already they are coming in to shadow me, each one is a relentless reminder that my presurgical days are ticking away and the searing pain of having my breasts cut away is hurtling at me like a fastball pitch.

This is such an edgy time for me, I am snappy and dangerous to be around.  Yesterday I missed a baseball game with my family.  Though I am not a big baseball fan, hot dogs and beer in the moist, simmering southern evening is such a treat.  We are lucky enough to have a local farm team for the Devilrays and games are big fun.  Through our friends, my son was awarded the last minute honor of throwing out the first pitch and because of work I was going to miss it.  I pitched a fit and refused to go to the game at all.  I stayed at home and ate scrambled eggs while everyone else partied their socks off.  Childish.

My anxiety is also making it difficult to ride.  Today I got a lesson on my wonderful green mare who is under training with my friend.  We trotted, she rushed, I tightened and wasn't easy on her mouth, my hip angle kept closing, I sat too hard, my weight wasn't balanced, when I asked for the stop I clenched with my legs and butt.  All wrong, I just couldn't get through the anxiety, the ever present feeling that I am going to die kept surfacing.  Realistically, I know I am saving my life, not dying but fear is irrational and so am I right now.

Day 18 Justice

When the surgeon asked me: "Why do you want the Diep Flap procedure?" I said "Justice."  This was my idea of a give and take negotiation with my cancer, a deal with my devil so to speak.  You take my breasts and I can take all of this unwelcome fat around my middle and move it up.  Justice.

It took a lot for me to surrender to the tissue expanders.  My surgeon had to go into all of the stuff that I knew but had depressed.  Tissue death being the major here, followed by radiation damage.  She told me she crys when the Tram and Diep Flap patients have to undergo the radiation which shrinks the breast.  A donor tissue breast cannot be rebuilt, ever.  Implants can be redone if needed.  Lots of stuff can kill your donor tissue, the procedure is very long, anethesia is high risk.  Recovery takes months, not weeks.

Heavy sigh.  I was looking at this like my silver lining and I am shocked by how disappointed I am.  I hate my tummy and it is never going away.  I love my breasts and they are.  I cry half way home while my husband holds my wet, snotty hand.

Sometimes that is what you need to turn yourself around, a rollicking pity party with just you and your dearest friend.  After I was finished being weepy I looked at what I did have:  Healthy children, a loving husband, a job I love (not to mention a job in this economy,)  my husband has a steady job, we have two cars in good repair, my fridge is full of food, my in-laws are always right there if I need help, I am surrounded with people and animals who love me, I have a roof over my head, my insurance is good AND I bought cancer insurance several years back.  I will continue to have all of that along with pretty implants and a tummy, I will be zaftig.   That's Yiddish for round, curvy, or literally "juicy."   And, because of Cancer I will from now on, know that I have more than enough.

Justice.

Day 17 So Says The Surgeon Part II

Woke at 5:30 a.m. in preparation to see the surgeon in Birmingham.  This one was recommended by one of our relatives who happens to be a reconstructive surgeon.  He operates with her and says that She is the one He would send his wife to if she was ever in my position.

She was younger than I by about 9 years, but I guess that stuff happens when you get older.  She was very straightforward and to the point.  She recommends the double mastectomy, no tram flap or diep flap.  The sequelae is too risky and the tissue would be destroyed if I happened to need radiation, which is a distinct possibility.  She sees tissue expanders and implants following to be the most expedient and least risky reconstruction option.  After her lengthy and patient explanation I am seeing the light on this issue.

Let's face it, she's a woman and I have to assume she has placed herself in this position at least as many times as she has had patients.  She has seen the results of all her treatment options from a female perspective.  I appreciate that.  I also appreciate her bedside, or table side, manner and intelligence.  We did not discuss as much as debate and she was on her game the whole time.  I forgot to ask about her preferred pain management protocols, but I will fire her an email later.

She will give me until the beginning of May to have my surgery.  A blessing since I have so much to do at work and at home.  I don't know if I can do it all before the surgical date.

Ambien has been great.  Only the last two nights I have woken at 2:00 and not been able to get back to sleep.  Of course I have been taking only 1/2 a tablet.  Tonight I will take a whole dose.  NEVER considered that I would take sleep medication, not in my life.  How things change.

Day 15 The Fog

When normality settles around you it's very much like fog.  You have trouble seeing at a distance,and your senses are muffled to what is immediately outside of your sight.  It makes the reality of the world less real, you are fooled for a short time.  Blinded sailors find themselves impaled on rocks, pilots descend when they should pull up.

Normality is not my friend.  It fools me into thinking that I'm OK and have nothing to worry about.  The fog clears and I have to readjust to my reality and it's such a harsh blow.  I go from normal to devastated and back to normal again. 

My new friend sent me a journal entry about a mammogram that she had.  Happily it was normal but, while she waited for her results she had a glimpse into what might be.  She looked deeply into the unity she shared with her breasts.  Their role in nurturing, alluring, and loving; the feelings that they absorbed and evoked.  This was a nakedly honest moment and I am glad she wrote it down and shared it with me.  Her writing moved me to tears.

My new normal will be breasts without sensation, they will never be alive with feeling and there is so much feeling in a woman's breasts.  We rarely think about it but, when the fog lifts I do.

Day 13 So Says The Surgeon - part I

Invasive lobular carcinoma
   Nottingham grade: 2
   Lymphatic vascular invasion: Absent
LCIS component: Present, moderate
ER: 92
PR: 95
Her2/neu: 1+

There's good news in there.  See the ER and PR?  Those are the measurements for Estrogen and Progesterone receptivity and they are very high.  High enough that this surgeon thinks I may dodge the chemotherapy bullet and instead go the Tamoxophin all the way...that's if the margins are clean and the sentinal node biopsy is clear. 

More I think than the mastectomy (which I dread), I am fearful of the lingering sickness of chemo and the stress that would place on everyone INCLUDING me.  I do not enjoy being sick.  Lest you think that's an overly obvious statement, let me say I know people who relish being sick.  Being cared for and maybe pitied satisfies many of their needs.  I am the opposite and probably equally twisted.

I have a pathological need to be independent.  My husband loves doing things for me, but I have to will myself to let him.  Being dependent, even on my most trusted partner, feels dangerous to me.  I would do almost anything not to be sick.  My recovery is going to require me to change big time.

The surgeon told me that I had to option to do a single mastectomy and that he recommends this.  I see this as a typical Male response.  The fact is, this type of carcinoma is known to reappear in the opposite breast in later years.  Not a 100% chance by any means, but you have to keep a close watch on it.  Who out there would willingly go this route again and, in the meantime, have to look at their remaining breast as a potential assassin?  That's bullshit if you will forgive my barn talk.  Plus, having two breasts that are different densities might unbalance me in the saddle, not to mention that one would age and the other would stay the same.  Take them now, rebuild me, let me proceed balanced and perky.

I will have my second opinion Monday in Birmingham.  This time with a female breast surgeon...let's see what SHE says.

Day 11 Three Pink Watches and a Scarf

Last Summer I had the most overwhelming pleasure of hosting my dear friend's son for a month.  They live in Yorkshire and are "horsey" folk, his intention was to work at our therapeutic riding facility while beefing up his university resume by doing so overseas.  We had the best time firing off fireworks on the 4th of July, going to Hooters so that he could charm the servers with his British accent, sitting around and playing video games with all of the neighborhood boys, training horses and laughing.  Mostly laughing.  I think I lost two inches from my waist from all of the hooting and cackling that we did together.  When he left, I cried.  I didn't say goodbye to him, I just made him promise to come back.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, his whole family is really great.  Fun, free spirited and all around good folks, I adore them all.  We keep in touch through Facebook.  Like me, they are practical for the most part, and pragmatic always.  They are not pink people at all.   But I just found out that everyone in the family (except their father, who is stationed  in the Middle East) went out on a special shopping trip to purchase pink watches, which they intend to wear in my honor until I am well again.  I cried when I got their message and I know every moment my watch ticks with theirs.  An immense comfort.

A week ago someone I barely knew wrote me the most wonderful, supportive, heartfelt notes.  It was one of those letters that take awhile to answer, mostly because they render you speechless.  The spirit of that amazing person reaches out to embrace you and you are supported at your weakest.  The note would have been enough, honestly, to install her in my heart forever, but today she surprised me with the gift of a very fashionable portable file (to carry my records back and forth.)  It was stuffed with M&M's and gum and a pink pen on a lanyard.  She also gave me her favorite basket and in it was her favorite book, nestled in her favorite scarf, surrounded by her favorite chocolates.  All to keep next to my recliner during those weeks that I recover...I had no words to thank her.  I think I just cried.

My wonderful Mother-In-Law has offered to let us stay with them for two weeks after the surgery.  She will do the cooking and will care for and love on my kids, maybe get them through their finals.  She even offered to hire a nurse so that my husband can get some sleep.  I haven't answered her email yet.  I sit down, but then can't find the words to properly thank her.  I give up, I just can't face that generosity without losing it.

ALL of the support I have experienced has been astounding and overwhelming.  My heart has to expand to allow it all in.  I am filled with love and fear in equal amounts.  They don't war with each other.  They coexist side by side, both taking up more and more space.  They are like tissue expanders for my soul.  They are remodeling me.

This is the gift of Cancer.

Day 10 Birthdays

Birthday, birthday, birthday, birthday...That's what the MRI said.  The odd arrangements of clanks and bangs, mixed with the buzzing and grinding spoke to me.  A distinct male voice, just a little mechanical repeating birthday, birthday, birthday. 

The tube was so much tighter than I thought it would have been.  I felt some contact on my left hip and it made me want to move over.  Of course that was out of the question, all I could do was try to relax and bear the contact.  It resembled an over close seat mate, I wanted to get up and find a seat of my own.  A seat with more room.  The technician told me I could breathe, but to try not to move my chest wall, so my breaths were shallow.  My naked breasts were hanging from my chest and pressed tight in their own little imaging cylinders.  I had earplugs, but it was still very loud.

I am not, by nature, claustrophobic but I kept feeling this almost uncontrollable urge to move, like a surge of panic impelling me to flee or be eaten.  In the breaks between mechanical sounds, when I thought they were moving the imager, I would take a deep breath, to sink into a deeper state of relaxation and let the man in the MRI machine speak to me.   Dot, dot, dot, birthday, birthday, birthday.

Earlier, as I entered the imaging room, the technician put in my IV, when she was done her partner inserted a needle into the port and started injecting fluid, I asked what it was and he looked at me with a smirk and said "saline."  Like it was an impertinent question.  This is my new normal.  I breathe and try to relax.

Birthday, birthday, birthday.  I will celebrate every birthday after this with a party.  Gifts aren't necessary, the only gift I need is another birthday.  After this, that will be my new normal.

Day Eight The Boneyard

I love my gym.  I belong to a Crossfit gym down town, on the wrong side of the railroad tracks next to the steel fabrication plant and a recycling plant  The pavement is heaved and cracked, potholes are the rule and a steady parade of dumptrucks and semis pass our open garage door.  When it rains, which is often, the rain drips through the corregated tin warehouse roof and washes off the chalky hashmarks that track our AMRAPs.  5:00am finds it full of sweaty, straining, stinking bodies united in support of their own and everyone else's personal best and dying for their first cup of coffee. 

I have belonged to Crossfit gyms before, but each one is different and I love this one.  It's been dubbed The Boneyard and I am comfortable there.  As comfortable as you can be doing Air Squats, Box Jumps, and finding your Max Dead Lift...It is the place that I have chosen to rehab myself after a cascade of injuries this last year.  I am gettiing stronger and shedding pounds slowly, but more importantly I am regaining my chutzpah. 

So far they have managed to keep me from injuring myself, not an easy task as I am a pusher.  I allow them to choose my weights for me, as I would reach just a little farther than is prudent during this slow comeback.  How hard I work within their parameters is entirely my own decision, and I wring every bit of effort from myself.  Why would I do less than everyone else there?  It would be embarrassing. 

Women are the minority, but they are not looked down upon or subjected to condescencion, it simply would not be allowed as one of the owners is a woman and she would kick their ass.  Everyone knows everyone else, newbies are welcomed by the whole.  Help is ever present, encouragement is abundant.  Nirvana.  Leave your ego at the door and push yourself 'till you drop.

I told the female partner Jennie about my diagnosis and how I am determined to make Crossfit a partner in my recovery.  We teared up, discreetly, 'cause we don't want the guys to think we are crybabies.  I think we both realized that I was making an important decision to be, not just a survivor, but a conquerer.  The day I return from my surgery I might just plink an exercise band while everyone else plays Wall Ball, but it will be an important day on the road to recovery.  Chemo will be another thing entirely, but I will still come even if it's just to row and stretch.

The next day I received an email asking me if I would mind that the Boneyard will be walking in the local Joy to Life breast cancer walk in my honor.  I was more than surprised, unexpectedly I felt PROUD.  Very soon after I started receiving emails offering support and prayers.  I really feel their support behind me, solidly.  I know they won't accept less than everything I've got and they'll be there to add a little of their own strength to help me pull through.  There will be no retreat and no surrender.  It would be embarrassing.

Day Three, 40 Kids and a Horse

I spent the whole day with my son.  He is, without a doubt the greatest companion anyone could ask for.  Anyone who knows him will tell you so, spending time with him is a pure joy.  First off he is very funny, but not in an overt way, this is more of a dry observant wit.  He has moments of pithiness coated in moments of just pure acceptance.  If every you want to know what it is like to be accepted unconditionally you want to hang out with my son.  People line up to spend the day with this wonderful boy and today I was the lucky one.

We woke up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning to manage a workday at the barn.  My son brought his favorite toy (outside of the riding mower), his power washer.  It was his job to clean the barn aisle and wash racks while I managed 40 Junior High kids from a large local church.  He did not complain once and worked like a Trojan.  So did this group of kids and their accompanying parents and ministers.  At the end of the morning the barn looked like a shiny new penny.

Standing in the flow of all of that energy is exhausting.  It's loud, chaotic, crazy, silly and life affirming.  My pink watch ticked on my wrist and I stood in the middle of the churn, maybe the first time without any expectation or agenda.  I did not think of the next 5 things on the "to do" list.  I just stood.  In the barn, with my son, listening to life and I was happy.  Not tiny happy, big happy. You shouldn't need cancer to have moments like this.

After the flood of giggling hormones re boarded their bus I looked for my boy.  He was soaking wet and grumpy; a warning sign.  Only grumpy when hungry, this is my last warning before a total attitudinal meltdown, he is just like his dad that way.  Though lunch at McDonald's is not a treat for me, but it is a treat for my son and, after this morning, he deserves his Southern Style Chicken Sandwich Combo with an Orange Drink.  I think he ate it in one minute.  There were no crumbs, I was amazed he had a wrapper left.  When I reached down for my small soda it too was gone.  Teenage boys are not to be trusted around food. 

Last thing we needed to do was quickly deliver my mare to my trainer.  After a fall I had last month, my husband and I decided to send my green horse to a trainer for more work under the saddle.  He's right, it's cheaper than a broken hip.  I am happy that I made these arrangements before my diagnosis.  If I hadn't her training would have been left for later, maybe after my recovery.  As it is, she will be ready to help me through my recovery.  I will ride through all of it, on my horse who I love, trained by my dear friend who I love.

A beautiful appaloosa mare, bright colored Bay with a frost blanket.  She is a delight, but always an appaloosa.  Appy owners will know what I am talking about here.  They are the image of smart and stubborn.  Whey they learn a new behavior it requires time, not because they don't understand (they do), but but because they have to agree.  My horse doesn't agree that trailering is something that she should do.  I have been feeding her in the trailer for a couple of days so that loading day would go according to plan.  When the time comes to load I put her food in the trailer, walked her up and she acts like she had never done this before.  No way Jose.

My son and I spent two hours trying everything we knew to get that horse in the trailer and nothing worked.  We had to call my friend and trainer to come and help.  Eventually, between the three of us we got her loaded, transported, and unloaded.  Her mind was blown.  What an upsetting thing it is to find yourself transported from your familiar existence, to a place that is unfamiliar.  Where you don't know what is going to happen next and who you are going to have to deal with.  You don't know if you are going to survive, life is turned upside down and you are petrified with fear. 

Be brave my little horse.  We will be courageous together.

Day One

I will always remember the moment my fingers hit the speed bump in my left breast.  I was showering and just trying to recover from the same respiratory infection everyone else in this town has.  You know the one that starts in the back of your throat like a warning shot.  Moving immediately and deliberately into your head before rolling like a tsunami of mucous into your chest.  I couldn't speak or breathe and the steam from the hot water was so wonderful.

My day was spent marching endlessly in the therapeutic riding facility where I work.  I love what I do and rarely look at the clock, this day was an exception.  On top of the freezing temperatures, fatigue, coughing and headache one of the horses, Dallas had punched me in the chest, hard.  A pony sized bay gelding with a cantankerous attitude, he is famous for eating his handlers and walking out of the mount.  You have to stand in front of him like a door and be brave enough not to flinch, only then will he leave you alone.  This test of fortitude and dominance is often a learned skill, and I had a new tasty volunteer leading,  She was dancing to get away from him and he was having a ball making her jerk like a puppet.  I took his head to show her the technique and he made a fool out of me by driving his head into my chest.  There's alot of muscle in a horses neck and, if he had wanted to, I would have been sitting on the ground.  As it was I was just bruised and cross.

I was pressing into my sore sternum.  The shower's heat soothing my sore tissues, my fingers moved up and through my right breast, making circles when I found an abused intercostal space, combing through the inflamed tissue and bringing relief...blessed relief.  I moved automatically to the left breast and relief turned to shock.

Thickening.  A plane of it with a nodule in the middle.  It hurt.  It was not a lymph node.  I was a massage therapist for over 10 years, and I knew what I was feeling was not anything I had felt before.  I could not pull my fingers off.  I was frozen.  Over a period of several minutes the voice of denial got louder and finally screamed: "It's a bruise you silly heifer!  You were punched in the chest by a horse, what did you think you would find?" 

Absolutely, I knew that voice for what it was, but I waited hopefully for that "bruise" to disappear.  A month later it was still there.  I made an appointment for a mammogram.  I had to wait two months.  For two months my hand kept it's vigil on my left breast.  I was a walking Pledge of Allegiance. Indivisible.  Under G.d.

Yesterday I had my mammogram, followed by an ultrasound.   We saw two growths, close together with fingers.  Each less than a cm.  The Doctor couldn't believe I had felt them.  She says, with almost perfect certainty, we are looking at a malignancy.  I wasn't surprised.  I wasn't anything. I made my appointment (the next day per my physician) for 8:00 am the next morning.  Today.

My husband came with me.  He waited in the lobby with my purse while I disrobed and laid on the table.  I didn't know what to expect, so for any readers who are curious here's how it goes:  The technician/nurse exposes your breast and cleans it several times after laying a sterile field.  She locates the lesion(s) using ultrasound and calls in the Doctor.  The physician asks me to close my eyes at this point.  She says that if any of the anesthetic splashes into your eyes it will burn, "better to be safe" she says.  I think it's so you can't see the giant needles she is going to pull out and go into a mindless panic.  I've seen the needles before.  I close my eyes.  She injects the breast with an anesthetic to numb it.  The needle is moved progressively deeper into the breast tissue but just a little at a time and the spreading numbness makes it only a little uncomfortable...not bad. 

The Physician makes a small incision and inserts a large hollow (obviously) needle up to and into the body of the lesion.  I felt nothing at all.  Samples are taken by inserting a grabber thingy and pulling a trigger.  There is an audible pop and a burst of pain.  She took 8 samples.  I don't know if that's a lot, I didn't ask.  I laid on the table and breathed deeply and spoke to the Doctor about Yoga.  A passion for both of us.  It helped.  Still, by the end of the procedure I was done and trembling.  Partly from shock and partly from the autonomic effect of the anesthetic. 

I don't want to do it again, but if I had to I know it wouldn't kill me.  Right now I am on ice...happily.

Lane helped me out to the car.  I was followed by knowing, sympathetic glances as I walked through the lobby of the Cancer Center and out the door...but not for long.  I have resolved to learn everyone's name.  Lori was my xray tech today.  Her son is having trouble at school.  He's super smart and super bored.  My daughter is the same way.  I resolved to find her a math tutor in her area.

Tomorrow afternoon we go back for the findings.  I have to write down my questions, I won't remember them all.  Lane will be there to hear the answers and remember.  He said the sweetest thing today.  I said "This is not going to be a walk in the park."  He answered "No, it's going to be a hike, but I'll be here to carry your pack."