The Dreaded "C" Word

Has anyone else ever had the feeling that they've known their fate their entire life? I always knew that I was going to get the dreaded "C" word. I just knew it. Most people would call it being pessimistic, I call it being a realist. I'm sure this sense of foreboding is the direct result of living through my grammy's long fight with the "C" word. She was a fighter and I don't remember her ever not fighting. I don't remember the time before her mastectomy.  When the cancer returned, it was just another battle in the war. And, boy did she fight. I thank her for teaching me to be such a strong woman. She helped prepare me for this.

I grew up truly believing that it wasn't a question of 'if' I got it but a question of 'when'. It's one of those family urban legends that gets passed down through generations. "Every woman in our family dies of cancer." That's been in my head for so long and something I believed my entire life (even if it's not accurate). It's funny how experiences shape and mold your outlook on life. Maybe this feeling that I was going to get cancer at some point has helped prepare me. Everything happens for a reason, right?

On March 25th, I find a lump in my left breast. I'm lying in bed watching tv with David when I feel it. It all starts with an itch...thank you, Allergies! I'm scratching my left breast and feel this hard lump. Wait!!! That's not supposed to be there. I calmly (on the outside because I was already freaking on the inside) ask David if he can feel it. Yes, it's not my imagination. Oh, crap! The next morning I call my OB/GYN. 

On March 27th, I head to the OB/GYN prepared to have tests ordered. I lie down on the table as he feels around for the lump. It doesn't take long. This is what you feel? It's a pretty good size....not what I want to hear. He tells me that he's setting me up with a diagnostic mammogram. As the nurse makes the call, I feel this heavy weight. Perhaps it's a change in their demeanor or perhaps it's my imagination. She tells me that I'm going across the bay to the other Mobile Infirmary building because they can get me in sooner. The local hospital can't get me in until April 8th and they don't want to wait. Also, she decides to skip a step and order the ultrasound at the same time. As I drive home alone I break down for the first time. I know it's crazy because I knew what was coming. I guess I was hoping it was all my imagination. It can't really be the "C" word, can it?

On April 1st, I have my diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound done. David comes with me for support and comfort (for both of us) as we (he) try to stay positive. As I'm sitting there in my gown, starting to freak out from the wait, Montana sends a positive good luck text. That lovely child of mine has perfect timing. Boy, I love her! The mammogram is quite the experience...not so much painful as it is awkward. The technician takes extra pictures of the right breast...uh, oh. That's not the correct breast. Next, we move on to the ultrasound.  It takes about an hour to take all of the pictures of both masses. Yes, she found a mass in the right breast, too. She tries to make small talk, but I've already caught a change in her facial expression. Maybe it's just my imagination. In the end, she tells me that they believe the right side is Fibroadenoma but they can't tell what the left mass is. She schedules a biopsy for both breasts for that Wednesday.

BTW, the technician thought she could keep me from seeing the images, but I manage a backward, extended reach iphone shot of the ultrasound pics. I obsess about the shape of the masses later. Surely, it looks like all of the cancer pics I've seen online. It's probably just my imagination. I'm too dramatic. Here's the shot:

On April 3rd, I have my ultrasound biopsy. My mother-in-law brings me so I don't have to go alone. Once again I find myself in a hospital gown waiting for a test. Ugh, I really should have brought my ipad. The nurse tells me that the technician that did my mammogram/ultrasound wants to be in the room, so we wait for her. What? Surely that means I have the dreaded "C" word. Why else would she insist on being a part of this procedure? Steenie, there goes your imagination again. As they set up for the doctor, they find a second mass in the right breast. Finally, the doctor starts taking biopsies of the masses. This is not fun!! I repeat, this is not fun!!! OUCH!!!! He finally finishes and tells me that my doctor will call in 3-4 days. My technician tells me it will be longer because of the weekend.

Now it's a waiting game. Where will I be when I receive the news that I have cancer? How will I react? Why isn't my sister home yet? How do I explain this to my kids? How will my family go on without me? Man, I really wanted to see my kids grow up. Man, I really wanted to grow old with David. I don't really need my breasts anyway...they are just added weight. Is this call THE call? Is my imagination getting the best of me? What happened to my get out of cancer free card I should have received when I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease (a story for another day)? Yes, waiting is the worst part!!! 

On April 8th, my OB/GYN calls. I'm at work waiting on a customer and can't take the call. This is the moment. I go into the kitchen and pace between the two freezers and call the nurse. The nurse tells me that she has to get the doctor. Oh, this is bad. First, the operator puts me straight through to the nurse. Now, the nurse puts the doctor directly on the phone. Imagination? Is that you? My doctor starts off apologizing for taking so long to get the results back to me. Wait? I thought it was going to be Wednesday or Thursday, not Monday....this is bad! The right masses are benign...fibroadenoma just like we thought. The left side is...deep breath...breast cancer. It's Infiltrating (Invasive) Ductal Carcinoma. He goes on to say that he just didn't expect this at my age. He hates giving me the news over the phone, but wants me to get treatment immediately. It's NOT my imagination.

Surprisingly, I handle the news well. I mean, I expected this. I've expected this my entire life. I'm more worried about everyone else. No one believed it was going to be cancer. But, it is. Now we know it and we can deal with it. It's time to prepare for war. No more time to feel sorry for myself. No more time to have those thoughts I had while waiting. No more thinking the worst. Survival mode...I know this mode well. I thrive in this mode. I've been in this mode for most of my life. I'm ready for battle. Let's get this party started.

On April 10th, I visit the Oncology Surgeon. I bring my bestie, Lisa, and David with me. The doctor walks in and says he's sorry I have cancer and that I'm here. I try to suppress a giggle as the doctor looks at me strangely. I'm not sure why I find his words funny, but it sounds like the funniest thing ever. I tell him that we're sorry I have cancer, too. What else do you say? I finally get to see the mammogram pics and sneak a picture of it. Yes, David and Lisa both think I'm silly or maybe crazy. We find out that it is Stage 1A - Early Stage**. That's a good thing...well, not as good as having no cancer, but the best we could hope for under the circumstances. This is going to make the fight a little easier. It's still going to be a fight...a war...but, I now have the advantage. I will see the Oncologist on Friday, April 12th. to get some genetic testing done and to begin mapping out our battle plan. 


So, here it is...the dreaded "C" word. Cancer...I have Breast Cancer. I AM a breast cancer fighter and future breast cancer survivor.

    

**we later found out it grew to Stage 2A.