September 18 Monday… D Day?

My alarm goes off at 6:20 am.  I think I should feel exhausted.  I have not slept a full night since last Thursday when that word was said that feeds the anxiety still curled in my gut, waiting for me to let it loose.  It’s getting harder to control.  I was awake for several hours in the middle of the night, falling back to sleep sometime after 4 am.  I was awake before my alarm went off at 6:20 am.  I lay there ignoring the alarm and check The Lump.  FUCK!  It’s still there.  Damn it.  I get up and get ready for work, packing my lunch.  I have an industry Expo in town that I need to get to try to do some networking.  We need more business.  But I want to get to the office first and catch up on all I missed on Thursday and Friday.

I am trying not to think about The Call.  The call that will schedule us to come back for the results.  The call that will change the rest of my life.  The anxiety pushes from its little corner; I push back.  My boob already hurts.  I can now take more than Tylenol.  Advil is my next choice.  I can take 3 extra strength Advil, which will get me through the day.  I work, get through emails, answer questions, help with billing issues, and check all pending to make sure everything looks right and there are no anomalies.

Boss arrives, we talk, review some things, asked when I’m going to the EXPO.  I told him I would finish up some rate requests, review some things, eat my lunch, and head over there.  Asked about The Call.  Not yet, as I shake my head, my cell phone rings.  Not a number I recognize, but it originated in the city of the Breast Diagnostic Center.  I hold up my finger to pause my boss for a second and answer.  It’s Evelyn from the BDC.  They will not receive the biopsy results in time to schedule a follow-up that day, but they will be in for a first-thing appointment on Tuesday.  “9 am, yes, that works, we will be there.”  Show the pink slip or tell the front desk you are there to see Evelyn.  They will take it from there.  The anxiety perks up, and it starts to unfurl, ready to go, but I am not ready for that yet.  I close my eyes, take a deep cleansing breath, and imagine good, purifying energies coming in, goldish, with a tinge of pink, entering my lungs, spreading through my bloodstream, fortifying my body, adding invisible armor, my protection from bad, and slowly exhaling.  My boss watches all this, and as I turn back to him, he says, “Tomorrow”, and I nod.  “OK.  Let me know how it goes.”

“I will.”

“Will you go back to the EXPO tomorrow?”

“Depends on what I find there today.”

“OK.  Then Wednesday, you have the all-day Symposium on the Software we use, correct?”

“Yes, I still plan on going to that.  I think there are tools we’re not using effectively.  This is a free way to find out what I am missing.”

“Good, we will see you back here for sure on Thursday.”

“Yup.”  And with that, I went back to work.

I like my boss.  I really like my boss.  I love what I do.  There are times when I don’t like my boss.  We have different management styles, and he can be overbearing at times.  He is quick to anger and VENTS.  But he is also quick to calm down.  When he is frustrated or angry, he will not listen.  There is no talking to him.  You cannot explain anything.  You just take the wrath, do what you can to fix the situation that started his frustration, and then present the solution you wanted to present earlier after everything is fixed.

He frustrates me to no end at times.  He makes me stretch and grow and learn new things, even when I don’t want to.  He is fair.  He believes that in a good days pay for hard work.  He expects hard work.  He is so much like my husband.  Cut and dry.  A wry sense of humor.  He’s a boob man.  I know this; he knows this.  He says things he shouldn’t say, but they are the same things I think or would say.  HR rolls her eyes at us all the time.  It feels like we are compatriots fighting the same fight.

He makes me laugh almost as much as my husband.  I respect him.  When he mentions my boobs about whatever we may be dealing with, it is usually funny, makes me laugh, and then I tell him I own his ass.  He laughs and agrees.  As angry as he can make me, and I am sure as hell, I can press all his buttons and piss him off, too, I don’t think I would find a better place to work than where I am now.

I was very happy for almost 20 years to work for a major corporation.  Then they moved all the jobs I liked to Arizona.  And not to a nice place like Prescott or Flagstaff.  I couldn’t do it.  I could not move with the jobs.  So, after almost 20 years with this company, I took the layoff.   Sometimes I think of my boss as almost a second father.  He is a good man.

Anyway, it took me a little longer than I anticipated to go over everything, get emails caught up, and answer all the questions.  I went and retrieved my salad from the frig and ate at my desk as I put finishing touches on things, then packed all my gear up and headed to the EXPO.  I walk in, and of course, I see people I know everywhere.  I’ve been in this industry for so long, and I happen to be the current president of one of the non-profit organizations in our industry, so I have had the great opportunity to meet many wonderful people.

I greet those I know, we chat, promise to call and get together, the normal stuff.  Then I will move on to see if there are any opportunities to grow our business here.  I stop at various booths, introduce myself, chat, swap stories, trade business cards, get goodies, the little marketing gimmicks everyone buys to hand out at EXPOs.  As I turn a corner and come to one booth, I recognize an old colleague.  The previous corporation I worked for has gone through many changes, including a purchase by another company.  Many of my previous co-workers throughout the country have left and gone on to other adventures.  The previous COO and the President of the Americas have started a new company based in Arizona with the primary footprint of the services and goods they offer in my neck of the woods.  As they have been expanding their footprint and providing offerings in other markets, they keep hiring more and more people to help them.  One of my previous bosses, who I loved working for, also works for this new company.  Here was yet another face from my past, becoming my present once again.  It was good to see him.

Once I was done grooming the EXPO, with very little to show for my efforts, but it was nice to have been able to get out there and talk to people I don’t get the chance to speak with very often, I called it a day and headed home.  Home, where we were still in denial about the word that had been spoken that directly relates to the C word. I was barely in the car before I unhooked my bra.  I am still uncomfortable wearing it.  Thank God for Advil.  Any maybe tonight I will drink the rest of the bubbly I opened last Tuesday.  Maybe this will help me sleep through the night.

We watch TV, I go through email again, and I drink the last of the champagne.  The anxiety is getting hard.  It has been this soft ethereal thing curled into a corner of my gut this whole week.  Now, it’s becoming hard, edgy, cutting, and heavy.  How am I ever going to sleep tonight?  I didn’t tell my husband that my primary care physician left me a voicemail earlier when my phone was snugged away in my purse.  She’s received information from the BDC about the biopsy, if there is anything she can do, I am to call her.  I am afraid to call her; I don’t want to know what she knows.

Life is denial for now

September 17 – Sunday, Tick Tock, Tick Tock

Sunday… the kids will be coming over in the afternoon for dinner.  For the first time ever I requested we watch the EMMY Awards.  I limit my award watching to the OSCAR’s.  But Stephen Colbert is hosting this year, and I really wanted to see what he does.

We had the normal banter going back and forth, we ordered Pizza for dinner so I would not cook.  I didn’t wear any type of bra, just a couple of knit tanks under my shirt.  The Lump, it’s still there.  The Lump is still hard and swollen.  My bruising is turning pretty colors.  The Lump is still angry.  The Lump is still there, damn it.  I keep checking, feeling The Lump.  This is unreal.  This is a dream.  I will wake up and this will all go away.  Life will be good again.

 

September 16 – Saturday still ignoring The Lump in the room

I found a sports bra I thought would work, and again, we took our time getting ready and drove to Disneyland to spend time with the family and celebrate my stepmom’s birthday.  The sports bra was a different kind of irritation to The Angry Lump.  The compression put pressure on it, making it ache instead of the cutting into it done by the underwire.  I can’t win here, but taking my Tylenol religiously, I ignored the discomfort and enjoyed my time with my family.  By the time we were done, I was ready to go with loose boob binding from that point forward.  A dull ache like that slowly wears on you.  For me, it makes me tired.  Sleep has always been my first reaction to pain and the general feeling of being unwell.

Life is still ignoring the lump

Friday September 15 – more of the same

Friday is much the same but with no ice.  I am stiff and sore.  The Lump is near the chest wall on the bottom side of my breast.  Very close to the chest muscle.  Moving my right arm irritates the soreness.  I wore a regular bra, and we took our time getting ready for dinner with the family.  The underwire of my bra quickly irritated The Lump.  It was a good night for dinner with my parents and other family.  We skirted the issue of The Lump and why my right boob hurt.  We laughed, shared stories, and ignored the giant lump in the room as much as possible.

Because of The Lump, we decided to limit our activities at Disneyland parks on Saturday and told the family we would meet up with them later in the day to still spend time with them before our dinner reservation.

I was in serious pain by the time we got home.  My bra caused most of the irritation and pain.  The Lump was now angry – hard and swollen.  That curl of anxiety perked its head, but I tamped it back down.  Not yet.  Life was going to be good for at least another day.  But I will get a new sports bra tomorrow, so I won’t have to fight with the underwire anymore.

Life is ignoring the The Lump in the room

Thursday September 14 – Biopsy Day

Thursday is here way too quickly.  I am dressed and ready to go, the anxiety just a small curl in my gut.  I sign in at the Breast Diagnostic and Care Center, go through the form signing, and wait.  I am called back.  I leave my purse and water bottle with my husband in the waiting room and am taken back to the room where the procedure will occur.  

The Technician walks me through a bunch of forms and confirmations of name spelling and items labeled correctly that need to be signed or confirmed and goes over the procedure once again with me.  I will change into a gown after disrobing from the waist up.  I will be laid down on the procedure bed with my right breast exposed.  They will cover me up with towels except for the area of my breast they need to work on.  They will wash my breast with betadine solution to ensure a sterile field.  Then Lidocaine will be administered to completely numb the area.   At this point, the ultrasound technician will provide a field of vision for the doctor to proceed with the biopsy.  I will feel pressure but no pain.  If there is any pain, I am to let them know so they can administer more Lidocaine. 

A small tube will be inserted into my breast right up to The Lump.  A tool will be inserted through this tube to take 4 to 6 samples of The Lump, which will be sent to pathology for analysis. Once that is done, the doctor will place a small clip in the middle of The Lump as a marker should we have to go back and address additional issues.  Once that is done and the tube removed, the technician will then place firm pressure on my breast to stop the bleeding.  This will take anywhere from ten to twenty minutes.  After the bleeding has stopped and steri-strips are applied, I will then have a mammogram done to ensure the marker can be seen in imaging.  Once I am cleared from that, I am to keep ice on my boob for a minimum of 6 hours, no lifting anything heavier than a TV Remote, my cell phone, an iPad, or my Kindle until Friday afternoon.

OK, I’m ready.  All the forms have been signed, i’s dotted, and t’s crossed.  Disrobe and put on the gown, opening to the front.  Done.  Lay down on the bed, right arm out of the gown, boob bared to the world.  A wedge is placed under my right side to elevate my boob to the doctor, and my right arm is raised above my head.  I am tilted to the left.  Tech starts draping me with blue surgical towels.  The doctor comes in and introduces herself.  She tells me not to worry; there are great new medicines out now that will shrink this tumor down before surgery.   Wait, what?  Tumor?  Shrink?  Surgery? No, no, no, this is benign; it’s a fatty tumor at worst.  That little curl of anxiety in my gut starts getting a little bigger.

The doctor keeps talking, and she’s asking me about any history in the family; no, not that I am aware of…  an Aunt passed earlier this year from Melanoma, but she was a teen in the ’60s and sunbathed with baby oil.  Others in the family are married in their kids, but I know nothing in my direct bloodline.  I did have thyroid cancer almost 20 years ago.  Oh, OK.  Surgery?  Yes, and then ablation with the isotope.  Oh, good.  Yes, it made me sick. Lucky me, half of one percent gets sick from it.  Ohhhhh and her demeanor changes slightly.  Not so reassuring, more, that is a little troubling.  Shit, shit, shit…  and the curl of anxiety in my gut starts to tighten.

She walks me through briefly what’s going to happen again.  I am nodding my understanding, concentrating on keeping my breathing even.   The technician and the doctor keep up a cheery banter as the doctor starts washing my breast with the betadine.  Swipe, swipe, scrub, wipe, repeat.  The technician calls for an aide to help ferry pieces around me, like the used gauze pads from the betadine wash and the mini scrub brush used in the first washing.

Again, my right side is slightly elevated by a wedge to make my breast the highest point.  My right arm is extended over my head, and I am tilted to the left because of the wedge.  As they start, I close my eyes and meditate to keep my parasympathetic nervous system calm.  Shit, in all the bustle, I forgot to tell them.  It’s OK, there is no IV, this is a simple procedure, like going to the dentist.  Drown them out.  I’m at the beach, I can hear the waves, take a deep even breath, in, one, two, three, pause, out, one two, three.

“There will be a little poke and a slight sting here for a second as we start administering the Lidocaine.”  Breathe, one, two, three, slowly, pause, out, one, two, three.  The ocean is calm, there is a slight breeze, you can smell the salt in the air.  There is pressure on my breast; I feel crowded even though my eyes are closed.  Breathe, inhale, slowly, one, two, three, pause, exhale, slowly, one, two, three.  There is lots of external activity around me, pressure, and more pressure.  Beach, sand, warm, breeze, salt, sun on my skin, gentle wave on my toes, breathe, one, two, three, pause, out, one, two, three.

The doctor says the tool I am using will make two clicks and then a much louder click as I take the samples. She demonstrates the tool’s sound by my right ear.

No, no, not now.  Breathe in, slowly; you can do this, beach, sand, breeze, sun, hear the surf, feel the wet sand, feel the breeze, smell the salt, in, one, two, three, shit, shit, shit, shit, no, breathe!  My face is cold, shit, breathe, sand, slow in one, water, two, breeze, three, sun, the cold, clammy sweat on the back of my neck, slowly exhale, one, oh god, the queasiness, two, I have to say something, they are in my boob, and I can’t move, I can’t throw up!  I can’t move; I need to move, tell them, tell them.

“Um, excuse me, but my BP is dropping; I need my feet raised up, please.”  The technician is on the ball, and while holding the ultrasound wand steady, she raises the feet of the exam bed I am on to elevate them.  She also told the aide to get ice packs on my forehead and the back of my neck.  The doctor asks me if this happens all the time.  It’s difficult for me to answer as I am still concentrating on trying to control this reaction so I don’t throw up.  Doctor keeps working as I answer “yes, kind of”.  At first, she says it’s just my nerves and then asks if I have a problem with needles.  Again, I know what I want to say, but can’t get the words out, so just say “yes”.  She can tell I am struggling to try to control this reaction, and answering her has taken my concentration off my breathing, and I am now starting to hyperventilate.   This has all happened in under 30 seconds.  The doctor is now talking to me, helping me slow my breathing down calmly, reassuring me that it’s OK, and it’s good that you recognized what was happening.  That’s it. Slow your breath in evenly. It’s good. Now slowly exhale; you’re doing good.  She continues working and is done before I can even say I feel the effects of my BP drop start to wane.   I hear the tech comment that may face is still ashen, I sense the doctor move away for a brief moment, there is a lot of pressure on my right boob, but no feeling.  Then the doctor is back; she is the one holding pressure on my breast, and the tech is now wiping the cold sweat from my face.  I am done.  Breathe, that a girl, slow even breath in and out.

I can feel the clamminess starting to recede.  Tech replaced the ice on the back of my neck with a fresh ice pack.  I hadn’t realized it felt so warm until the fresh pack was placed there.  The doctor remains holding the pressure on my boob.  Aid asks if she wants her to take over, doctor tells her no, she’s got this, clear the trash.  I feel the aftereffects start to come on, the shakiness, the flush of warmth moving out to my extremities.

The technician then says she sees the color starting to come back to my face.  Minutes have passed at this point.  I am starting to feel normal.  I apologize, I tell them my BP is on the low side of normal, how I didn’t think to warn them, and how sound is my biggest trigger, but yes I do have problems with needles, but can usually control that.  Now, the only time I really have this issue is when I get a new person who doesn’t believe me when I tell them how to start an IV on me or a phlebotomist who doesn’t believe me when I tell them where the blood comes out.

I was reassured that it was OK, and they were very glad that I could tell them what I needed and that I recognized what was happening.  The doctor asks me if I am OK now.  Yes, I just need some time to get over the shakiness.   She asks me if I would like water or juice.  “Yes, water would be lovely right now, please.”  She looks at me and says, no, I think you need juice.  Can you handle juice?  I think so.  Tell us if you think it will make it worse for you.  No, I can do the juice; I just need to sip it.  OK, let’s get you some juice then.  The aid is sent to get me juice, the tech is still holding pressure on my boob.  The doctor asks the tech if everything is under control and if she needs her to remain.  Tech says, no, we have it from here.  I am told to take as much time as I need to recover.

Before the doctor left, she told me that the biopsy results should come back by Monday, they would call me to schedule an appointment to review the results, and an Oncologist would be there at that appointment to explain everything.  That didn’t sink in at first.

The first thing that went through my mind at that point was that I was more used to being ignored, especially when I provided a warning of what could happen.  Most of the time, I am ignored or told they can do this without causing an issue.  When I do have the problem of the BP dropping suddenly like that, I’m used to being treated like an anomaly at best, or it’s my fault at worst.  To have a team so readily come to my aid while they continued to do the job that was at hand and treat me so kindly was so refreshing.   If I could have stood up at that point, I would have hugged each and every one of them for making me feel like it was OK to have this issue with my blood pressure.

As I laid there with an ice pack on my forehead, an icepack on the back of my neck, and the tech still applying pressure to my boob and the tremors working their way through my body after the doctor left the room, her parting words started to sink in, and that is when that slightly bigger, tight curl of anxiety started to take over my whole torso.

The aid returned to the room with a juice box, and the tech kept checking to see if the bleeding had stopped.  Finally, the tech said the bleeding had slowed enough that the steri-strips could be applied.  As I slowly sipped juice and moved the ice packs around to aid in recovery from the BP drop, I was asked if I wanted my husband with me.  Before I could answer, the tech said, yes, that would be a good idea.  I started to tell her what he looked like, but she said, I remember where you were sitting, I’ll be right back.

I closed my eyes and willed the anxiety back into a little ball; it was not working.  I couldn’t grab enough of its wispy edges to gather it into a compact area again.  I took another sip of juice, said a silent prayer to my guardian angels, and then my husband was there.  I just needed him to touch me, to give me an anchor.  I knew with an anchor, I could stretch myself further to gather in the ever-spreading anxiety.  It was like thick tendrils of grayish fog trying to roll its way through my body, to surround me and fill the entire room.  That word, Oncologist, was food for that fog of anxiety, like a triple hit of sugar to a toddler, making it spin out of control.

He held my hand as I lay there, now with an ice pack under my neck and one on my breast, sipping juice from a tiny juice box.   I looked at him and said, “It’s cancer”.  He willed that it wasn’t, denied that it could be, we didn’t know yet.  It could still be nothing.  As he held my hand, I saw in his eyes that he was going to continue to deny this, could not think of this until we had no choice.  I had my anchor; he would be there with me through all this.  I slowly reeled that monster of anxiety back into a ball and tucked it away.  It was still there, not gone, ready to pounce at the slightest release of control.  I could stand up now.  Still a little shaky, they asked if I wanted some crackers.  No, no food.  Just the juice for now.  Off for the mammogram to ensure the marker could be seen.  Two quick images: Yes, there it is. I went back to the original room to get dressed, go home, and wait.

Ice pack into the sacrificial bra, and then tenderly place my right boob into the already filled cup and gingerly move the strap up to hold it all in place.  Not too bad.  Loose sweater over the top of it, and away we go with my extra-large right boob, walking out hand in hand with the best man I know, being my anchor.   I had stocked up on frozen peas as they make some of the best ice packs.  I had a blue surgery towel to use as the insulator, and with instructions to change the ice every 30 minutes, I sat on the couch, prepared to binge-watch something.

As feeling slowly came back to my breast, the discomfort set in.  The sacrificial bra was tight and painful, so I gave up using the bra to hold the ice to my now bruised and bloody boob to just holding it myself.  Trying not to think about what would happen next week.  Ignoring the word spoken back at the Breast Diagnostic Center (that sounds like a store where you go pick out the ones you want, or buy the tools to renovate your breasts…).  That gray fog of anxiety, sitting curled in my gut, just waiting for its chance to take over.

I was allowed to take Tylenol for discomfort, and I did do so regularly from the time we left the Breast Center to ensure I stayed on top of any pain.  We didn’t talk about The Lump, the biopsy, or the word that fed the anxiety.  This was nothing.  It was Jon Snow – “You know nothing”.  (I read the books but have not watched the series.)  We went to bed; it was awkward with my now slightly swollen and sore right boob.

Life is frozen peas ice packs

Wednesday September 13 – Sleep? Happy Birthday my First Born

Sleep is not easy to come by all of sudden.  Even the techniques I have learned over the years to help me get to sleep at night are not working.  I fall asleep, but wake up at about 2 am and do not get back to sleep until about 5 am.  Then I am awake at the first crack of dawn, just as the sky outside my shaded windows has barely started to perceptibly lighten.

I am not a morning person.  I am and have been for as long as I can remember, a night owl.  Even as a child, I learned that if I lay in bed and imagined I was on a raft in a pool, or in a boat just watching the waves, this would help me fall asleep instead of laying there bored out of my mind.  I learned later in life this was meditation.  I was so smart.  In my teen years, meditation would help me get to sleep, but I found on occasion that staying asleep was not as easy.  But that only happened occasionally.  If meditation didn’t help me get back to sleep, I found that rather than stressing about not sleeping, I would just read for a while, and sleep would come back to me.  Dawns were not something I did often.  There were the few occasions when I would be up, right before or with the sun, but my usual pattern was an hour or two after sunrise.  I think I can count on one hand the number of times I remember being up by dawn of my own accord.

My husband arrived home Wednesday morning, and I am so glad to come home to him.  I am cheered he is going with me to the biopsy.  I am glad he is there to hold me and tell me everything is going to be alright.  Most people do not get our humor.  We’re both very dry and sarcastic.  He, much more so than me.  He is my perfect match as far as I am concerned.  He makes me laugh.  I know he loves me not only by him telling me so, but in all that he does for us as a family, and what he does for me to make my days a little easier. Despite saying things at times that most interpret as uncaring or callous, I know this is his quick dry wit and sarcasm coming through at its best.  I love him dearly and wouldn’t trade him for the world. I feel a little more centered now that he is back and can hold me.

When I first told him about The Lump, and we were discussing all the different possibilities, he asked me what I thought the worst-case scenario was.  I said it’s tender and big, and even though it’s nothing, they will want to remove it because of the tender/big part.  What will that do to my right boob?  It’s going to be a different size than the left one.  His immediate response was, “That’s OK they will just be Italian boobs”.  I thought for a second, I wasn’t getting the correlation.  So I said, “OK, I’ll bite, what are Italian boobs?”

“WOP sided,” says my partially Sicilian husband.  He made me laugh.  Life is always good with him, even in the bad, scary times. I love him.

Today is the anniversary date of becoming a mother, happiest of birthday wishes to my eldest child.

Life is good with my dry-witted sarcastic husband

Tuesday September 12 – Diagnostics

I go for the diagnostic exams. Feeling a little concerned, but this is nothing.  Just a little inconvenience,   First is the mammogram.  It wasn’t the little localized paddles, it was the normal paddles, and they didn’t even squish me that hard. It did hurt, but not nearly as much as I thought it would.  I did have one tear slip out and the poor tech was so sorry she was hurting me.  I felt bad as I think the tear was more from the anxiety than anything else. Diagnostic mammograms were really a breeze compared to what I imagined.  The technician excused herself to insure the radiologists had what they wanted on the images taken and then she was back hustling me over to wait for ultrasound.  I was a little alarmed at how quick she seemed to want to get the images to the radiologist, and she wouldn’t let me see the scans.  I knew if I really wanted to I could have pushed to see the scan, as it is my right, but I didn’t want to go there.  Besides, this is nothing, it’s a cyst.

I was taken in for the ultrasound.  The technician and I totally hit it off.  Trading stories while she saved images of The Lump.  Next thing I know, she too is exiting the room hurriedly,  to make sure the radiologist is OK with the images secured.  Now I’m starting to really feel like this may not be something so easy.  Next thing I know the radiologist steps into the exam room with the technician, and explains to me that The Lump is not a cyst and we need to do a biopsy so we know what we’re dealing with.

Before I can even process this news, the tech has me up and going over pages and pages of paperwork, and I’ve been scheduled for a biopsy on Thursday morning at 9:45.  I will not be able to work that day, as once the biopsy is done I will have to ice my boob for at least 6 hours.   Boobs bleed a lot.  Can easily reopen the wound, and my head is spinning.  This is not happening.

I managed to get a text off to my cousin between the announcement by the radiologist and the Tech telling me what will happen, when, how and what I need to do to prepare.  Text to cousin – “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!!!!!!!  it’s not a cyst. Biopsy is next.”  Response “Oh Jesus!”

Now my world is starting to spin.  They are rushing this, is this is cancer?  How the fuck did I get cancer in my fucking right boob!!   It can’t be cancer.  It’s benign.  Breathe, slow, count to three, exhale, count to three.  Again, count to four, exhale, one, two, three, four.  I am out in the parking lot, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.  Call my husband who is still driving from Boise to Vegas.  Don’t hyperventilate.  Husband says don’t jump to conclusions.  It could still be anything.  In my gut, I know its cancer.  The Lump – it’s trying to kill me, I just know it.

I try to remain calm that afternoon as I sort through my feelings.  My dad and stepmom are arriving Friday to celebrate her birthday at the Disneyland Parks.  We’re supposed to meet them for dinner Friday night, and meet them again on Saturday at the park, with dinner again already planned and reservations secured at the Blue Bayou.  My cousins husband is turning 50 this weekend, she is throwing him a surprise party.  We had already committed to my parents for Disneyland, we would not be heading up to the bay area for his party.  But my mom has flown in from South Carolina to spend a few days with friends from her old Temple in Northern California and finish it off with the surprise party.  I can’t make my cousin keep my secrets, not a secret like this, not one so big, not one that is now scaring the shit out of me.  I’m going to have to tell my mom at least.  And the kids.  Husband arrives in Las Vegas and we talk a bit.  It’s going to be OK, this is nothing.  Life is good.

I take a deep breath and call my mom.  Explain what has happened, and tell her about the biopsy.  I text my cousin, tell her I have told my mom, she doesn’t have to keep the secret.  She texts back she’d told her mom too, now.  I should be expecting a call from my aunt.  I’ve told all the kids.  Including the oldest son, who no longer talks to us because we’re the root of all evil in his life.  That is another story that for another place and time.  Despite his issues with us, he is still loved.  I call him and leave him a message.  Everyone that needs to know, knows.

My aunt calls me.  Reassured me this is nothing.  Both her and my mother (her sister) had to go back for additional screenings because of dense breast tissue creating shadows in their mammograms.  Both about the same age I am now.  Well, yes Auntie – I’ve had to do that as well a few years back.  I asked her if she could feel a lump when this happened to her.  No, oh, well, yeah, it’s nothing.  We left it at that, and I could feel the tiny seeds of fear starting to sprout roots in my gut.

I have made arrangements at work to be off Thursday and Friday to deal with the biopsy and all the steps I have to take to insure I don’t reopen the wound and have it bleed all over the place.  My anxiety factor has now been elevated.

Life is whispered secrets of fear

Wednesday September 6 – Calling my Cousin

I call my cousin on Wednesday, September 6th, ask her how she is faring.  Get all the details of her accident, and hear how she was treated as a female motorcycle rider.  There is discrimination there, subtle, but there.  The ER doctor, also female, after running tests and imaging to ensure nothing broken or uncontrollable bleeding, tells my much battered and bruised cousin she can go home, she’s being released.  My cousin asks about her hugely swelling knee and the doctor agrees that it should be wrapped; she’ll get a nurse to do it before my cousin leaves.  Then my cousin asks about pain relief.  This is some pretty serious bruising happening here.  She’s been hit by a car, flown through the air, and landed then rolled down the freeway!  The doctor kind of slyly smiles and says she can prescribe Flexeril, which is primarily used as a muscle relaxer.  There is that discrimination….

We then talk about The Lump, the diagnostic mammogram I must have, and the follow-up ultrasound.  We discussed how it’s tender and I’m worried they will be using the smaller paddles they used, when, thanks to my dense breast tissue a few years back, I had to go back for secondary screening on my annual mammogram.  That was very painful, and I was imagining this happening on The Lump.  I was cringing before it was even going to happen.  My cousin said she could send me some Flexeril.  I told her it was OK, I already have some.  We both laughed, I felt much better.

Life is good.

Tuesday September 5th – Talking to my Primary Care Physician

I arrive bright and early at my doctor’s office.  I like her, she is timely and she takes her time when needed.  She is not over-scheduled.  That is hard to find in a doctor these days.  We discuss the original issue I was coming back in to follow-up on, and then I tell her about The Lump.  She wants to check it out herself.  I am left to disrobe from the waist up and don the paper gown, which of course rips completely on one side.  So it’s more a drape to keep me modest while my right side and back are exposed.

She comes back in and feels The Lump.  She says it feels kind of rubbery.  We both agree it is most likely a cyst, but she schedules me for a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound.  Better to be safe than sorry.  It’s still tender.  This procedure needs pre-authorization by the insurance company before I can schedule an appointment at the Breast Diagnostic Center associated with the hospital we prefer to use.

I am scheduled for the diagnostic exams on Tuesday, September 12.  When I talk to my husband that night he tells me that even though the house they have been fixing is not quite done yet, he is coming home the following week.  He will leave on Tuesday the 12th, stop in Vegas over night and be home Wednesday morning.  Then I tell him my news…  I will not worry about this.  I find out my cousin was hit on her motorcycle the previous week.  Bruised and sore, her bike totaled, but she is OK.  She did get to ride in an ambulance though.

The Beginning

Where do I begin this story?    Since this is about my boobs, we should probably start when they did.

I really didn’t think about my breasts until I was about 12.  When I noticed other girls starting to develop breasts, and I had nothing yet.  I would wonder what mine would look like, what they would feel like.  What would it feel like to have someone else touch them.  I knew what intercourse was by that time, and wondered about that as well, but that is not what this story is about.  I knew quite a bit about my body and the coming changes that would happen and about exploring those changes and my sexuality because I read, a lot.  I was, and still am, a voracious reader.   I read a gamut of genres and at that age was very interested in reproduction and the birth process. Even at that young age, and not voicing any of this to ANYONE in my little circle of life, thought that women had been giving birth for thousands of years, it really seemed weird to me that we now did it in a hospitals sterile and cold confines, ripped away from all our loved ones and those, who we find our most support in those times, that I imagined birth would be like.  But I digress, that is another story for another day.

I wondered if my breasts, when they did decide to start growing, would end up as huge as my mothers.  Hers were beyond gozangas, they were watermelons!  And not the tiny little watermelons we see now in the grocery stores that have been cultivated to be small and seedless, easy to manage with one hand, and not feel rushed to eat before it goes bad.  I’m talking watermelons of the 60’s and 70’s – those huge things that required two hands to pick up and carry.  The kind where your parents, in preparation for a party weekend, cut a small hole in the side and tipped a giant bottle of vodka into it days before the party would start.  The kinds that were cut up for the watermelon eating contest; big wedges of bright red, fading to pink before the rind started, dotted with hundreds of glistening black seeds that would be swallowed or spat, and even both, by the contestants.  Yeah, that big.    I wasn’t sure I wanted breasts that big.

Then it happened, those soft little nipple buds started to perk.  They were so tender and any hard pressure to them hurt.  I was slightly embarrassed at their appearance.  I was happy to see them, but didn’t want to share them with the world.  I wanted them covered, compressed so their shape was not visible to the world through my clothing.  I wanted it to be my secret.

My best friend and I were learning to sew on her mother’s sewing machine, and she had given us some left over yardage and scraps of very rough muslin.  It had been sized with something that made one side extra rough.  We took those scraps and decided to make our first brassieres with them, shaping triangles and straps based on our measurements.  Somehow mine ended up being sewn with that rough side in, instead of out.  When I was at home and putting in on for the first time, it scratched and itched horribly!  I tried adding a layer of toilet paper between my skin and that rough, itchy fabric to relieve the utterly uncomfortable feeling it was creating.  My mother caught me doing this and announced to the family I was trying to stuff my new bra.  I tried to explain that was not what I was doing, and the feel of the fabric against my skin, but she wasn’t listening, she had already decided I was stuffing and they all had a great laugh at me.  I never wore my homemade bra again.

I was still silently distressed about my budding breasts, and how they showed through my clothing.  I finally convinced my mom to take me out to get a “training” bra.  I came home feeling so much more protected.  I wasn’t ready to share my changing body, my changing breasts to be, with the world.  Now, even though I knew my family knew they were there, and all my classmates, with this training bra on I could face the world and keep my “secret” until I was ready for them to be seen under my clothes.

That confidence lasted until I walked in the front door.  Four brothers, only girl….  Needless to say there was much snapping of the straps happening that day, and for a few more days to come before I was left alone.  Oh, and the comments on my “over the shoulder boulder holder” flew like rain in the wind.  I weathered that little storm of growing up in a house full of boys with no scars about the my image of my breasts amazingly enough.

Finally, they were something more than just sore, painful nipple buds, with mammary tissue behind those buds.  They grew to a cute, perky little size, not even close to my mother’s gargantuan mounds.  I was happy, they were happy, I really didn’t think about them anymore, except at the times boys did things to try to see them without my clothes.  One boy ended up with a black eye.  I never told my family about those few times.  But these were my boobs.  I would decide someday if I wanted to share them.

Then, there was the first boy I let look at them naked.  They were still those teenage, young perky boobs.  Gentle swells on my chest, with barely pink, tiny areola around my nipples.  We dated, we talked, we kissed, we eventually started to explore.  Then the day came when he asked if I would bare my breasts, I was afraid he would make fun of them, but shyly showed him anyway.  He looked at them in awe.  Kissed the top of each little swell, then, he went back to kissing me.  I felt so special.  I had something he adored and worshiped, they were part of me.  He worshiped me.  All was good with these boobs.  I was discovering my sexuality and where my boobs fit in to that picture.  It was a heady time, it was empowering.  I might have a secret weapon in this world where I was quickly realizing, girls were treated MUCH differently than boys.

Not much more thought went towards my breasts after that.  They were there, boys worshiped them, and the ones who didn’t, well they were not worth my time.  Can’t worship the boobies that were part of me, then you didn’t “worship” me, and I deserved more.

Then I discovered lace, and different bra styles, and UNDER WIRE.  Oh my!  The “girls” looked really good in lace and a cut that mimicked a halter style with smaller cups, rather than a full coverage cup and straps that lifted from the center of gravity, so to speak, with only that elastic band around my rib cage for support.  A pretty bra that showcased the girls was like a secret weapon under my clothes.  I felt powerful knowing what I looked like without the outer wear on, and no one knew but me.  Life was good.

Then I was pregnant.  The Breast Fairy paid a visit and my cute perky little mounds grew.  They felt different, heavier, they had an actual purpose.  New bras were purchased to house these changing mounds.  I now had grapefruits.  Nursing bras came next.  I tried several styles before I settled on one type by Olga, it had snaps at the center of the bra, not those funky clips on the straps, that I found I struggled with in the dressing room at Sears.  I loved how my now, heavy beasts settled into the soft cups of those bras.  The easy snap access at the center of the bra, so I could sweep the cup away to the side to expose the nipple for the tiny mouth that would soon be searching it out.  Life was good.

Then my first son was born, and my breasts fulfilled their true purpose in life.  I felt like a goddess, not only could I bring forth life, but I could nourish this life and make him grow with a source from my own body.  I loved my breasts at that point.  They worked perfectly.  My little boy grew and grew.

Then came the second son, and my breasts betrayed me.  The Breast Fairy was not to be found this pregnancy.  When my milk came in about three days after he was born, my boobs became these giant hard melons.  It was a Sunday morning and I wasn’t sure I had ANY clothes that would fit over them.  (Maternity wear was out of the question at that point, I refused to put another overly large piece of clothing on now that I could get into my bloated weight clothes.)  They provided the nourishment for my sweet little newborn for 6 weeks.  Then they started to go dry.  They quickly deflated back to their previous size, a little bigger than they had been prior to my first son.  I felt so betrayed by them, but put them back into my bra and went on with life and finding new ways to nourish this new little love in my life.  Life was good.

Two years later, a darling girl was brought forth, and this time the boobs worked as they should.  For six  months she received life-sustaining sustenance produced by my breasts.  I am still not sure if it was her, or my boobs, that started changing first, she started wanting more solid foods and a bottle.  My milk supply slowly dwindled as she turned to other sources for nourishment.  It was good.  My breasts and done their job and now they would just be boobs.  I didn’t really think about them again for a while.  I was a busy mom, three kids, a job, and then a single mom.  Life happened.  And I didn’t think much of my boobs.  There were there, they looked pretty darn good for having had three kids.  They had changed from their pre-children size and shape.  They were now more teardrop shape and heavier overall.  Larger than before my first child, but not too big, well-shaped.   They were now more than just little swelling mounds, but mature women’s breasts. Life was good.

Then I discovered Renaissance Fair.  Dress up!  I love playing dress up.  And the boobs!  Oh, the things you could do with boobs in those clothes.  They could be a prim and proper merchants boobs, small bulges tucked under a crisp white under gown, or a pretty, pretty princess with her vast tracks of land on display to snag the attentions of men of the court; or a hard-working maid with her stout bodice, holding her beauties snugly to keep them out-of-the-way.  A lady, with sheer sheeting hiding those bound beauties, and then a brazen, bare, giant mounded, boobs up to your chin, wench.  But I only thought of my breasts when I was playing dress up at fair.  Life was still good, and they were there, an accessory to my costume of choice when going out to play.

It wasn’t until I met my second husband that I really started noticing my breasts in more than a functional or accessory way.  Kids were heading into their teens, and my new love worshiped all of me.  I found new erogenous zones, my body was changing, maturing into midlife, and he made me feel sensuous, sexy, and very aware of my boobs, and the role they now played in my sex life.  I started wearing lace and satin underwear again.  My secret power was back.  Life continued, I found myself in a career, not just a job.  And the boobs, they were good.  Life was good

A few short years later I was diagnosed with Thyroid Cancer.  It was ok though, it was slow and easy to treat.  It took forever from the first sign that there was something wrong before final diagnosis.  Three long months. First my primary care physician doing a routine check up on my recent bout with allergies, feeling around my neck for any swollen lymph glands, asked me how long my thyroid had been that big.  That led to an ultrasound, which led to a fine needle biopsy.

Fun story there – one, my blood pressure tends to be on the low side of normal.  Two, I have horrible veins, they hide, and collapse at the first sign of a needle.  And three, my BP will drop very easily (see number one – low BP).  My parasympathetic nervous system being the system that controls this is usually triggered by sound, something that sounds like it should hurt.   It doesn’t have to hurt, just sound like it should, and, needles.  I get a phlebotomist that is tentative in any way on a blood draw or starting an IV – that vein they think they found is GONE, collapsed in a HOT second.  And then, the parasympathetic nervous system sets in.  It starts with the color draining from my face, then I start to feel that cold clamminess on my neck, which then radiates down through my body.  I’ve learned how to control this through meditation and measured breathing techniques, but if it comes on quickly there is no stopping the process.  At that point, I need to get my head down and my feet up, or I will throw up, then pass out.  So there I was, to get this fine needle aspiration done on my thyroid so they can see what is making it so big.  I was not aware I would be given Demerol intravenously so I would sleep or be really woozy though the process.

I am on a gurney, in a cold room, nervous, and explaining to this nurse all of the above.  You find a vein, go for it, do not hesitate, you must be fast.  She ties the tourniquet, slaps my hand and arm all over the place, trying to get a vein to “pop”.  She finds one on the back of my hand, she’s going to go for it.  She has everything set up, I am looking away, no visual stimuli to trick my stupid  parasympathetic nervous system, and she hesitates.  Vein collapses, she cannot proceed.  She stops, pulls out the catheter, and says she’s going to get her supervisor.  And leaves…  in the mean time, there goes my parasympathetic nervous system, and I feel it coming on, I feel the blood drain from my face, I feel the cold sweats starting, the queasiness comes on strong.  I am on a raised, narrow gurney with the rails up.  I do this somersault type move to go from lying down with a semi-reclined torso, to inch worming my way down the gurney so I can hang my head off the end and let my feet be higher than my heart.  I hang there off the end of that gurney, hand dripping blood all over the floor, with my husband squatting below me, an emesis basin in hand that he found in case I did puke.

In comes the nurse supervisor with the nurse who fled, and she’s a little ticked that I have been left alone in this position.  I explain that I put myself in this position after the other nurse left…  The supervisor gets a new catheter and is able to get the IV set up started so I can be administered the Demerol before the procedure.  Three injections of Demerol later I am wheeled into the room for the ultrasound guided fine needle aspiration.   On goes the cold gel all over my neck, doctor says yes right there, in goes the first needle.  Ouch, that hurt.  “You’re still awake?” I am asked by one of the bodies around my gurney.  Yes, I am.  Hit her with more.  I talked through the whole procedure.  When they are finished, they slap band-aids on the puncture wounds and take me to recovery.  (They didn’t wipe off the gel…)  They take my BP several times over the course of an hour or two, and are worried that it is so low.  Then the nurse that administered the Demerol comes in and says to my husband that I have the constitution of a horse.  Evidently they gave me enough Demerol to knock a horse on its ass, and there I talked through this whole procedure.  They finally let me go even though they still thought my BP was too low, with the admonition; leave the band-aids on for at least 24 hours.

I managed to wait 3 hours before my neck itched so badly from all that gel dried to it I couldn’t take it any longer.  I went into our bathroom and pulled off the first band-aid.  I looked like I had been attached by baby vampires.  Little holes bruising all over the front of my neck.

That led to the diagnoses, which led to scheduled surgery and referral to a radiation oncologist.

Surgery went well, and once my Thyroid Stimulating hormone levels were sky-high, since I didn’t have a thyroid to stimulate anymore, it was on to the Radioactive Isotope to kill off anything that may have remained.

I met the radiation oncologist, he was a serious man.  He didn’t get my jokes about gaining super human powers since I would have to ingest a radioactive pill.  The Atomic Energy Commission regulates all Nuclear Medicine and had just ruled the year before that patients being dosed with I-238 no longer had to be hospitalized in isolation for the three days they are “radioactive”, starting the year I was receiving this therapy.  I was instructed that I could stay home after I ingested the pill, but my family would have to leave the house for three days.  Any pets would also have to stay away.  I needed to purchase clothes I was willing to throw away when I was done, along with a toothbrush.

Ummm, my kids were in school, how could I disrupt their lives like that.  Could I go to a hotel?  Sure, why not.  I called the insurance company, spoke with my nurse advocate for my case and explained the situation to her.  Would the insurance cover my hotel costs and food?  She went to bat for me and came back and told me yes, they would cover 80% up to $400 per day hotel costs as well as 80% of a $180 per day food allowance.  I was set.  This was going to best cancer treatment ever.  I could kick back in a hotel room ordering room service and the insurance company was going to pay 80%!

Day arrives to be dosed, and we go to the Radiation Oncologists office for dosing.   I am led to a room that is very – clinical.  There is a hospital bed, a metal chair, other medical stuff scattered throughout the room, and in the opposite corner a large metal cabinet.  I am led to the bed and told to take a seat.  In walks the doctor with a lead apron on.  He greets me, says all the pleasantries, and walks towards that metal cabinet.  He grabs these four-foot tongs off the wall.  He opens this 8 foot by 4 foot metal cabinet and inside is an opening about 18 inches by 18 inches.  In that niche is a small metal bottle.  He reaches in with the tongs and grabs the bottle.  With another pair of tongs he then twists the lid off the bottle and then approaches me holding the tongs with the bottle straight out in front of him.  He tells me to hold out my hand, and he then tips that practically solid bottle and out comes a pill about the size of an extra-large vitamin, oblong, blue, and now in my hand.  This is not inspiring a whole lot of confidence that this is going to good for me.  Down the hatch it went, I was then admonished to drink lots of water to help flush the radioactivity from my system.

After that I was driven to the hotel by my husband.  He came up with me to my new room for the next three days, set up a VCR for me so I could watch movies, and kissed me a quick goodbye.  Within a few hours I was violently ill.  I could not keep anything down.  I had diarrhea, I hurt all over and I was hot.  I had the flu?!?!  Did I throw up that stupid pill?  I called the Oncologist.  I was told that half of one percent of people are highly susceptible to radiation sickness, they get sick from the isotope.  So, yeah me…  They told me to stay hydrated and drink LOTS and LOTS of water.  Easy for them to say.  I couldn’t keep it down if I wanted too.  When the three days were up I was so happy to see my husband.  I was miserable.  After a week, I was back to the radiation oncologist.

I asked him about the radiation sickness.  He said if I had to do this treatment again he would recommend I be hospitalized so they could provide me IV fluids.  Then I said, “so you’re telling me that even though I know how to hunt and fish, start a fire, cook over that fire, build a shelter, grow my own fruits and veggies, if we’re hit by a nuclear bomb” and he cut me off and said “you will die in about two weeks from radiation poisoning.”  Well, thank you for that.  And I didn’t even get super human powers.  There is something very wrong with that situation!  He finally laughed.  He finally got my dry humor.

That was 19 years ago.  I am still alive and kicking and my boobs, right here with me.  It worked.  No more thyroid cancer.

Back to my boobs.  They have grown larger over the years, along with the rest of me.  No longer barely a B cup, I am now an E cup.   I still enjoy a physical relationship with my husband, and as the years have gone by, my boobs have become more sensitive.  I have grown attached to them.  I really like them.  I touch them all the time.  I check them for changes, dimples, lumps.  Life continues, life happens.  Kids grow up, move out, creating their own lives.  Then one made us grandparents.  Grandson is now the light of our life.

Husband had an opportunity to help his best friend in Boise, ID flip a house.  We decided this would be good for him to go do.  Right before he left for 4-5 weeks he promised the grandson a trip to Disneyland.

This was the beginning of August 2017.

Now I am at that age where I’m having my own personal summers and not using feminine hygiene products regularly.  I’m not touching my boobs as regularly either.  I still touch them, but not as much as I used too.  Life.  After my husband has left for Idaho, I am on my own in the house and doing things he would normally do.  I notice my breasts getting tender.  Hmm, wonder if I’m gearing up to have a menstrual cycle.  Week or two goes by and nothing.  It’s been months since my last one.  I now have to record when I have them as they are getting further and further apart and I cannot remember without the note.  Then, that last week before Labor Day, I notice my left breast is no longer tender, but my right one is still tender in one spot.  Then it was either Thursday or Friday before Labor Day that I had lifted something up and it shifted against my right breast, and hey, that kind of hurt.  When I was done I kind of rubbed the area that hurt.  The bottom part of my right breast, where it attaches to my chest wall.  I’m rubbing that tender area and is that my rib?  My rib should not stick up that much.  I check the left side, no I can feel my rib under there, but not like the right side.  I feel it some more, is that a lump?

Later that night I continue to explore that spot, am I imagining this.  I don’t have a lump that big in my breast.  I just had a clean mammogram at the end of January, that was just seven months ago.  I explore this lump for the rest of the three-day weekend.  I know I have a follow-up appointment with my Primary Care physician on Tuesday morning.  Maybe this is a cyst or a fatty tumor.  Those happen in breasts all the time, right?

There has been no history of cancer of any kind in my blood line going back as far as we remember that I am aware of.  I am the first person in my direct blood line of my family to have had cancer.  People who have married in on both sides of my family, their descendants have reported cancers, but not in my direct blood line.