Diagnosis
January 17th, 2020 was a Friday. I was scheduled to have an ultrasound of my left breast at 8 a.m., and planned to be done in time to start my workday a bit late, but more or less uninterrupted. I'd been anxious about this appointment for a week. In mid-December, my 18 month old son, L, had elbowed my left breast in a rambunctious bout of cuddling and playing. To my surprise, it hurt. As a mom who has breastfed two kids, my boobs feel pretty impervious to any type of knocking, hitting and general children-related rough-housing. (I often joke that as small as they were to begin with, after performing their motherly duties, my breasts had fully retired). I did a self-exam and felt a lump, but it felt like a clogged duct and I didn't think too much about it. As the weeks went on, I noticed that the spot was still tender to being touched, so when I had a routine physical exam on January 10th, I had my doctor perform a breast exam, even though I'd had my annual GYN visit a few months prior. She confirmed there was a lump and prescribed an ultrasound.
Friday morning, the 17th, I drove myself to the ultrasound appointment. I was called in pretty quickly. I followed the ultrasound tech to a room, changed into a robe and laid down on the table. The ultrasound tech began the procedure and I could tell something was off pretty quickly. She seemed to have trouble identifying the lump or measuring it. She told me she was going to get a doctor. In that portion of my brain responsible for wishful thinking, I thought- well maybe it's all a mistake and there is no lump after all! She must be calling the doctor to say there's been a mistake.
The doctor came in with the ultrasound tech, performed the ultrasound, and immediately sent me for mammograms. She also advised that she'd likely be sending me to the hospital to get a fine needle aspiration biopsy. (A fine needle aspiration is a type of biopsy where they insert a small needle into the tumor and pull cells out). I waited in the mammogram room with a handful of other women in similarly uniform colored robes and waited to be called for my mammogram. I went in for one set of images and then back to the waiting room. I was then called back because the doctor wanted more images. Back to waiting in the same room, in the same robe, with other women watching the same news replay on the small tv, playing on their phones, and reading random trashy magazines. One more time, they called my name. The mammogram tech apologized with a smile on her face and said that the doc wanted another set of images. By this time, I'd been at the facility for nearly 3 hours. I'd sent an email to work explaining my appointment was running late and that I would be logged on as soon as possible. In my mind, I already knew this was unlikely.
Finally, I was able to get changed back into my clothes and was called in to meet with the doctor. She told me that the mass was suspicious and that she wanted me to go to the hospital for the fine needle aspiration biopsy. Did I have time today? She would call the hospital and let them know I was coming. I said yes. I knew I would not be working today. I called my husband and asked if he would come with me to the hospital. As I sat in the driveway waiting for him, my phone rang. It was a good friend of mine from college, and one of the strongest women I know, J. She had battled and beaten cancer twice. We are similar in being stoic and rational, hiding vulnerability with wry and sarcastic senses of humor, and disguising our deliciously dirty potty mouths behind what my husband calls elegant exteriors. J knew that there was a good chance the news would not be good. I had been calm to this point, but on the phone with her, I broke down telling her that I couldn't die because I had to stay around for my children, aged 4 (R) and 18 months (L). It was the first time I cried that day. Quickly the tears dried and we began to talk about other topics, like the best way to bring a vibrator in carry on luggage. Perverted jokes ensued. I smiled. The sun shone.
My husband, B, and I drove to the hospital where both of our children had been born. Into an exam room and into another robe. When the pathologist came in to perform the biopsy, she asked the nurse to get a box of tissues. I don't think B noticed, but I did. I laid down on the table, and she inserted the needle into my left breast. She left with the slides of the cells taken from my left breast and B and I waited. I don't remember what we talked about. I paced. I emailed work to tell them that I would not be working today given that my appointments had taken much longer than anticipated. By this time it was nearly 2 p.m . Each time we heard footsteps outside the door, we braced for it to open.
Finally, footsteps approached and the door opened. The doctor and nurse came in and I knew from their faces. B held my hand as I sat on the exam table, still in my robe. "I'm sorry, but the cells are malignant." I began to cry. B gripped my shoulders. Those tissues the nurse had grabbed were put to good use. The doctor told me she needed to do the biopsy again to get more cells to do further testing on the cancer cells. Again I laid down, again I held the nurse's hand while the doc did the biopsy. To my surprise, the biopsies were not very painful. We were then swept to a counselor's office to coordinate next steps. I had stopped crying and my mind was moving onto what would come next. B was like a zombie next to me. I knew very little about breast cancer and I needed to know more. The rational side of my brain took over in an attempt to gain some sense of control of the situation. I also had in my mind that no matter what, I was going to make it to my 4:15 workout class, come hell or high water. Well hell had come and I was going. This was both a way to make the day feel more normal, but also me wanting to do the things I loved while I still could, because I knew my life was about to change.
It's funny the way your mind focuses and scatters simultaneously when you receive life changing news. I lost my father at the age of 19 in a hiking accident. It took two days to find his body. I am familiar with the way life can knock you sideways on random days, no matter how you think you can brace yourself for it. I had told myself that 2020 was going to be the year that I evaluated how much time and energy I was giving to work and to really examine what I wanted my life to be like. I had been scared to do so, being in a high speed, stressful corporate job, and the idea of slowing or changing the track was scary. On January 17th, 2020, my cancer diagnosis allowed me to give myself the permission to truly consider all of these things: how much of my time and energy was I going to devote to work? How much time to my family? How much time to myself and my relationship with my husband? What about my other interests? What life did I want?
Friday morning, the 17th, I drove myself to the ultrasound appointment. I was called in pretty quickly. I followed the ultrasound tech to a room, changed into a robe and laid down on the table. The ultrasound tech began the procedure and I could tell something was off pretty quickly. She seemed to have trouble identifying the lump or measuring it. She told me she was going to get a doctor. In that portion of my brain responsible for wishful thinking, I thought- well maybe it's all a mistake and there is no lump after all! She must be calling the doctor to say there's been a mistake.
The doctor came in with the ultrasound tech, performed the ultrasound, and immediately sent me for mammograms. She also advised that she'd likely be sending me to the hospital to get a fine needle aspiration biopsy. (A fine needle aspiration is a type of biopsy where they insert a small needle into the tumor and pull cells out). I waited in the mammogram room with a handful of other women in similarly uniform colored robes and waited to be called for my mammogram. I went in for one set of images and then back to the waiting room. I was then called back because the doctor wanted more images. Back to waiting in the same room, in the same robe, with other women watching the same news replay on the small tv, playing on their phones, and reading random trashy magazines. One more time, they called my name. The mammogram tech apologized with a smile on her face and said that the doc wanted another set of images. By this time, I'd been at the facility for nearly 3 hours. I'd sent an email to work explaining my appointment was running late and that I would be logged on as soon as possible. In my mind, I already knew this was unlikely.
Finally, I was able to get changed back into my clothes and was called in to meet with the doctor. She told me that the mass was suspicious and that she wanted me to go to the hospital for the fine needle aspiration biopsy. Did I have time today? She would call the hospital and let them know I was coming. I said yes. I knew I would not be working today. I called my husband and asked if he would come with me to the hospital. As I sat in the driveway waiting for him, my phone rang. It was a good friend of mine from college, and one of the strongest women I know, J. She had battled and beaten cancer twice. We are similar in being stoic and rational, hiding vulnerability with wry and sarcastic senses of humor, and disguising our deliciously dirty potty mouths behind what my husband calls elegant exteriors. J knew that there was a good chance the news would not be good. I had been calm to this point, but on the phone with her, I broke down telling her that I couldn't die because I had to stay around for my children, aged 4 (R) and 18 months (L). It was the first time I cried that day. Quickly the tears dried and we began to talk about other topics, like the best way to bring a vibrator in carry on luggage. Perverted jokes ensued. I smiled. The sun shone.
My husband, B, and I drove to the hospital where both of our children had been born. Into an exam room and into another robe. When the pathologist came in to perform the biopsy, she asked the nurse to get a box of tissues. I don't think B noticed, but I did. I laid down on the table, and she inserted the needle into my left breast. She left with the slides of the cells taken from my left breast and B and I waited. I don't remember what we talked about. I paced. I emailed work to tell them that I would not be working today given that my appointments had taken much longer than anticipated. By this time it was nearly 2 p.m . Each time we heard footsteps outside the door, we braced for it to open.
Finally, footsteps approached and the door opened. The doctor and nurse came in and I knew from their faces. B held my hand as I sat on the exam table, still in my robe. "I'm sorry, but the cells are malignant." I began to cry. B gripped my shoulders. Those tissues the nurse had grabbed were put to good use. The doctor told me she needed to do the biopsy again to get more cells to do further testing on the cancer cells. Again I laid down, again I held the nurse's hand while the doc did the biopsy. To my surprise, the biopsies were not very painful. We were then swept to a counselor's office to coordinate next steps. I had stopped crying and my mind was moving onto what would come next. B was like a zombie next to me. I knew very little about breast cancer and I needed to know more. The rational side of my brain took over in an attempt to gain some sense of control of the situation. I also had in my mind that no matter what, I was going to make it to my 4:15 workout class, come hell or high water. Well hell had come and I was going. This was both a way to make the day feel more normal, but also me wanting to do the things I loved while I still could, because I knew my life was about to change.
It's funny the way your mind focuses and scatters simultaneously when you receive life changing news. I lost my father at the age of 19 in a hiking accident. It took two days to find his body. I am familiar with the way life can knock you sideways on random days, no matter how you think you can brace yourself for it. I had told myself that 2020 was going to be the year that I evaluated how much time and energy I was giving to work and to really examine what I wanted my life to be like. I had been scared to do so, being in a high speed, stressful corporate job, and the idea of slowing or changing the track was scary. On January 17th, 2020, my cancer diagnosis allowed me to give myself the permission to truly consider all of these things: how much of my time and energy was I going to devote to work? How much time to my family? How much time to myself and my relationship with my husband? What about my other interests? What life did I want?
Keep it up, great stuff👏👏👏
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely proud of you ❤️