I didn’t really sleep. I fell asleep last night, but I was awake again at 2 am. I fell back to sleep after 5 am, and I woke up before 6 am. This is now my thing. I get ready, I have the Symposium today. How do I act normal? My world is upside down. How do I do this? My dragon is active, squeezing my heart here, punching my lungs there, kick to the gut, a whoosh through my head, remember to breathe girl, breathe.
I leave for the Symposium like it’s any other day. A normal day. You can do this; it’s just another day of the week. You were looking forward to this. You can do this. I arrive at the location where the symposium is being held. Lots of people I know and recognize, people I don’t know. I should sit near an end where I can excuse myself if necessary. Evelyn will be calling with MRI and HER2 results. She may be able to get me in for Genetic Testing…
Act normal, smile, fake it. Ten minutes before the opening remarks, my phone rings. Evelyn. MRI is clean. No other lesions or lymph node involvement were spotted. It’s a relief. Exhale some of that pent-up anxiety. HER2 is negative as well. We’re confirming this is a triple-negative cancer. And that little bit of anxiety just released is back. Triple Negative sounds bad. My husband begged me not to Google anything about cancer. I will not go down that rabbit hole.
I can do this today. Immerse myself in the day. I signed up for this so I could learn more about this system. I can do this. I run into Rita. I worked for her a long time ago. During a break, it comes out. I tell her I was just diagnosed yesterday. She had breast cancer. Different. Slow growing, lumpectomy, radiation. She will help me. It helps knowing I have someone on my side. I have her number. I will call her. I make it through the day. I run into a few others. I told an old colleague who was there as well. I leave as soon as I feel it is appropriate.
Home. I’m trying to be normal about this. My world is no longer normal. I email the family with the news of the MRI. Small steps. We can do this. We. We. Me… Husband insisted I had to join a support group. Arrangements are made to be at the Friday morning welcome meeting so we can start that immediately as well. How do I not have questions? I do have questions about chemo; I know the basics. How sick is this really going to make me? Google that. I can Google that. It’s not answering my questions. Maybe I need to be more specific on my cancer so I can get specific answers on the chemo. Google: Triple Negative Cancer Chemo. First sentence up: Triple Negative cancers have the lowest 5-year survival rate… OMG, close, close, close! Google is not my friend! Stop trying to figure out what will happen with chemo. My anxiety now contains some tendrils of fear, orange, and red, mixed in with the gray. It is a hard ball in the center of the anxiety, making it heavy and nauseous. I should catch up on work. Work takes me away, do not think about that C word. Don’t think about Triple Negative. Don’t think about any of it. Ignore the ball in my gut.
What if I must have a mastectomy? Do I want reconstruction? Do I have to know this now? What if I need a bilateral mastectomy? Will they feel fake? Will they feel at all? My husband says he will love me no matter what. He doesn’t love me for my boobs. He doesn’t care if I have them or not. But I think he might. Do I want new boobs if I must remove my real ones? One, maybe the other, is trying to kill me. Why? I should eat. I can’t eat. Maybe I’ll sleep tonight. Do I want new boobs? Do I want a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy? I don’t know what I want… my heart aches. Will I still be me? I know I am not my boobs, but I just don’t know how I feel about losing them or replacing them…
Life is broken.