A Very Strange Week

It’s been a very strange week.

On Sunday I ran my first marathon. It hurt like hell, it took longer than I thought it would, and it felt REALLY good when I was done. I felt strong. I felt powerful. And I felt relieved that I had checked off yet another big event on my life list.

The following day I found myself lying half naked on an ultrasound table at the Breast Diagnostic Center in Fort Collins hearing the doctor say, “I am quite concerned that this is a breast cancer.”

A month earlier, on the morning of the last event of my hugely stressful multi-year project that I was really glad was finally coming to an end.......I had found a lump in my left boob. It scared the shit out of me because I knew something was not right. The husband concurred when I showed him by saying, "That's not good." 

I didn't even know where to go to get a doctor to look at it. I'm 39 and healthy. I just ran a fucking marathon, for Pete's sake. I don't have a doctor because I don’t need a doctor. Thank god for cooler heads than mine that gave me a phone number and told me where to go.

So I went to the first doctor. He felt my lump, quoted me the very low odds of it being cancer considering my age, health, and medical history, and ordered me a mammogram and an ultrasound. Then he told me not to drink caffeine in case it was a cyst. Apparently caffeine makes cysts cranky. Of course this was right after I had downed a Starbucks Mocha Caffeine Power Bomb.

I should have known this was a sign of things to come.

I got the mammogram and the ultrasound and listened to the second doctor (a surgeon this time) tell me that he didn’t know what it was, but it probably wasn’t cancer. He asked if I had experienced any physical trauma to my boob lately (really?!?) and told me he thought it was fat necrosis (which occurs, apparently, after your boob gets whacked by something). To my knowledge I had not been punched in the boob any time recently and told him so. He sent me to get an ultrasound guided biopsy.

So that brings me back to this week.

On Wednesday, I got the call.

I have breast cancer. Stage II. It has spread to at least one lymph node in my armpit.

Shit.

I told my boss, a few people at work, and my parents. Husband told his boss. And I’m already over the telling people thing.

Breast cancer has become both a big thing and a normal thing in our society. We see the pink ribbons everywhere. Professional football players wear pink shoes and pink gloves. Events screaming “CURE” and “SURVIVOR” in swirly pink letters abound.

I never even thought twice about it.

Did you know that 1 in 8 women will get breast cancer? I didn’t. And I certainly didn’t think it would be me. But there you go. I guess no one does.

So now it’s been a few days since I got the news. It’s been an emotional roller coaster as I have come to accept all of the many horrible things that I’m going to have to go through in the next year and I’ve rotated through several different stages of emotional craziness:

#1 – Grief. General sadness. Uncontrollable crying. An out-of-body feeling that this really isn’t happening.

#2 – Denial. I actually said, “This is no big deal. It’s just another thing to get over.” A good sentiment to be sure, but maybe doesn't take into account all the things that are really lying in wait.

#3 – Fear. After almost 40 years, I have just gotten to the place where I am ok with my body. I actually enjoy wearing a bikini, and have just recently lost enough weight to feel comfortable in my own skin. The fear that I am going to go back to hating how I look again for the rest of my life is overwhelming.

#4 - Anger. I am angry that this is happening to me. I just got over a big stressful year. I have only been married 2 years and my husband was just getting used to me not being crazy. I am angry that he is now going to have to go through this, and that we, as a couple, now have to go through this. And I am angry that this is going to change everything.

And then I started doing all the internet research. Don't worry, the oncology nurse told me which sites to trust. The research has helped me come to the epiphany that while this cancer will probably not kill me, it is going to suck. Big time.

Here is some of the research I have found that does not make me happy:

•  I may lose a boob. I don’t have big boobs to begin with, but I’m pretty happy with mine, and while I wouldn’t say that I focus a lot of who I am on the presence of my boobs, I’m a pretty big fan of symmetry.
•  If they take my boob and I choose to get reconstructive surgery, the most common place to take skin/muscle/etc from is your abdomen. I am very proud of my flat stomach. So now not only may I have one boob, I may lose my abs and have a poochy stomach. The body image thing just keeps getting better.
• Chemo is going to make me gain weight. I can’t even get a disease that makes me lose weight. Body image. Again.
•  My hair is going to fall out. I love my hair. I guess the good side is that this gives me an excuse to try out a fun cut and color. I’ve always wanted to go Alias Red.
• My eyebrows may fall out. What?!?!
• My eyelashes may fall out. Double what?!?
•  Even if my eyelashes don’t fall out, I cannot wear mascara. I have worn mascara since I was 18. I don’t go out in public without mascara, and now I’m going to have to go out in public with no hair, no eyebrows, one boob, poochy stomach, and NO MASCARA! Shit. Shit. Shit.

·       Some things I have decided that do make me happy:

• If my hair is going to fall out, at least its winter. There are fun animal hats with ears that I can wear in winter. Maybe I'll get a penguin hat. Or a lion. So many choices.
• Scars don't really bother me, so I'm not really worried about the scars. But I CAN get a sweet ass tattoo to cover up my boob scars. Turn a thing of asymmetry into a thing a beauty. I actually really like this idea.

These things may all seem very shallow. They kind of do to me now that I read them back, but right now that's the only thing that's real to me. The medical part of things is out of my hands. I have a pretty good survival rate, so I'm not worried about dying. What I am worried about is my quality of life after its all over. That part is very real to me.

So anyway, that's where I am right now. It's been a very strange week. I'll probably continue to bounce back and forth between ok and not ok like a yo-yo for awhile as I try to work all this out. I heard someone say this week that Buddhist teachings tell us that life is about transition, so I'm trying to prepare myself for this transition. Be prepared.

Tomorrow I go to the surgeon to find out what is really going on, how bad things really are, and what the plan will be.

I need a cocktail. I think you should have one, too.

Cocktail pairing: A straight shot of something strong followed by a smooth Ad Astra Amber.