The MRI

The MRI has been done and it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. You are in a kneeling position with your breasts through holders and an IV shoots dye through your arm. Being in a tube-line structure doesn't bother me ... there is an opening towards the front ... no big deal. It is over in less than an hour.

Still doesn't seem real to me. I have told my sisters and that was hard because of all the possibilities. What do we carry in us? Where did this mutation come from and am I passing it on to my child? I hope not ... I hope that this is a random force of nature and that I will be enough. I'll take one for my team.

Well the weekend is here ... that gives me time to stalk the surgeon online and find out things about him. Keeping busy is good. Who wants to wallow in misery?

The Day After ...

I tell people at work ... a very, very small group of people who need to know. I cannot keep telling the same story over and over again. I don't want people to look at me differently because I now have a label. Every time I talk about this crappy cancer, I have to deal with the horror. Besides it's my own private business. I am not one to broadcast my business all over creation as my mother would say.

Most of the time I can keep it contained but every now and then I feel the quiver within. I am determined not to indulge in self-pity. Perhaps I got this stiff upper lip from my mother and grandmother. Really, what is the point of bemoaning something you cannot change?

I have absolute faith that I will beat this. There is no doubt in my mind at all that God will see me through this. I did not survive a war so that crappy cancer could get me.

Everything Changes

Even as we sit and wait, I know that something is wrong. I have lived my life listening to that inner voice, and it is screaming in my head. I don't need Dr. Ng to tell me but all he does is confirm what has become evident ... I have invasive ductal carcinoma. I don't even know what that is! It's very early and it's very small ... about 8 mm. They are recommending a lumpectomy and radiation.

I am waiting for my heart to sink, but it doesn't. I am not afraid. Why am I not afraid? Hope is still alive.

We will deal with this as we deal with anything else ... together as a family. Sarah is waiting at home. She has asked that I text her when I get the results, but I do not, because this is not something that you text your child. A decade ago when I thought that I might have to tell my child that I had breast cancer, I was paralyzed with fear. It is different now ... I just have to tell her the truth, and as long as I am strong and fearless, she will not be crushed by this horror.

John and I can even laugh a little as we drive home. I have never liked labels or categories and now I have a big one ... breast cancer. I do not want it to be a stamp on my life. I am so much more than this.

When we get home, I tell Sarah as dispassionately as I can, but she still cries a little.  And I try to remember what it was like for me all those years ago when I learned that my mother had colon cancer. I was not much older than Sarah, and here we are again, confronted by this crappy disease. This was not the cancer I thought I would get. I am hoping that because I am brave about this, my child will realize that I am not going to die ... at least not today. We have a battle to fight and many years to go.

The de Paredes Center has arranged everything. I have a folder of material, dates for an MRI and a date with the surgeon. There is a plan in place and a team of people whose job it is to save my life and I don't feel quite so helpless. I am deeply grateful to Dr. de Paredes. Her skill means that I get to see my grandchildren and tell them tales of their mother. I am so very grateful that I live in this country where mammograms are so routine and doctors like de Paredes exist. I am giving her a virtual hug!

I get on the computer and find breastcancer.org and I read as much as I can possibly stand for a night. I am putting off having to tell my sisters. Joyce already has a sense that something bad is coming and I couldn't tell her then that the something bad was going to happen to me. For just a brief moment I consider not telling anyone, but I realize very quickly that that would be impossible to do and exceedingly silly. We are all part of each other, bound by blood and history. I just cannot do it tonight.

Instead, I plan because having a plan makes me feel better. I have never been one to drift aimlessly or to let life sweep me along. By gum, I need a plan!

Biopsies and Things Change

Dr. de Paredes supervises a new doctor, Dr. Ng, whom I have not seen before. The aspiration of the left breast goes well ... it is quick and Dr. Ng comes back and tells me that there is nothing to worrry about. They do three extractions from the right breast and put a marker in, just in case a surgeon has to go in.  I hear the whispering and I know that something is wrong. Dr. de Paredes comes back and tells me that I have to come back into the office for the results on January 25. Now, I know that something is wrong because the usual protocol is to call with the results. A slow dread seeps in but hope is still very much alive.

Annual Mammogram ... more cysts

The results of today's mammogram is not a surprise. I have had cysts for almost a decade now and hence the referral to the women't center three years ago. The cysts have always been in the left breast but this time there is a new one in the right breast. I had already figured that out ... I've been having the same little stabbing pains in the right breast as I have in the left one.

This time I'm going to need biopsies on both breasts ... this is new. Don't know what to expect so I'll have lots of reading to do. I will have enough time between now and January 21 at 1:30 pm.