Wish it was good news...

It's been an incredibly long time since I've blogged and whenever I start again, I always think how much I used to enjoy writing, and vow to start again.

Who knows, maybe this time I will.

So much has happened.

My oldest son, Shane,

went off to college at 

the University of Oregon

(he loves it),

my youngest son, Jacob,

turned 16, and just doesn't seem

to need his mama as much as 

he used to because he's

so busy with his own life

(lacrosse, scouts, sailing).

It's all as it should be,

but sometimes it makes me sad

because life has been happening too fast.

And then a few weeks ago, my little

world was rocked.  A routine

mammogram turned into a follow-up

mammogram

"just to get some clearer pictures",

that turned into a sonogram,

"just to take a better look",

that turned into two biopsies

"because why wait and watch and worry",

that turned into a breast cancer

diagnosis one snowy Friday

morning that sent me into a tailspin.

Here's what you might not know about me.

In life, I'm a glass half full kind of girl - unless it's my health, and then I'm a 

worst case scenario girl.   I'm not

proud of it, it makes me crazy, the anxiety

level I create within my own body with

my mind going to all kinds of terrible

places literally had me sick with

worry until I could meet with 

the breast cancer surgeon.

I had to wait five days to meet with her,

and it was the longest five days of my life.

I tried everything to keep myself calm.

I breathed deeply.

I took more baths in five days than 

I have in five years

(I'm a shower girl),

I tried yoga, I walked, I cried

(alot),

I cried some more,

I talked to friends,

I talked to my sister and my mother

and I prayed, and then prayed some more

(and then some more)

By the time my appointment with the

surgeon came around I was an absolute

wreck.   My usually perfect blood pressure

was so high, my resting heart rate was off 

the charts, I was so nervous I thought

I would pass out.

My sweet husband, Rob, stayed calm,

he did everything he could to reassure me,

to keep things calm for our 16 year old

(I kept my crying confined to the bedroom!),

and maintained a level of external calm

when he was home that would have won me

an Academy Award.

(At least that's how I see it.)

Right from the get go, the staff at 

the Breast Center at Anne Arundel Medical Center made me feel like it was going to be

okay.   The nurse assured me the type of cancer I have wasn't going to kill me.

"Yeah, right, what do you know, you're not the doctor.."

(Hate to say it, but that's really how I felt in that moment.)

The surgeon came in, talked to me about my options, said what she saw, said I might need a mastectomy, explained all about the sentinel node, talked about my lymph nodes, chemo, and radiation, my family history
(none)
and after an exam, more questions and more 
medical terminology asked if

I have children.

Yes, 19 and 16.

And then she assured me I would live to 

see my grandchildren.

That's when I turned to a sobbing mess.

I kept asking them to repeat themselves.  

I was stunned.

But she ordered an MRI and a meeting with

a plastic surgeon.

It was getting so surreal.

The MRI was to "get a better look" to

help determine whether I would need a 

mastectomy or a lumpectomy.

Options were explained, appointments 

were scheduled.  I left the office

feeling better than I could have hoped for.

It was strange.   I still had breast cancer, but for the first time since I got the news, I felt like I was going to be okay.

The next day I had to go to an orientation

type program at the hospital for women facing

breast cancer surgery.   It was surreal.

The week before I was living my life, and

on this Thursday I was in a room on the 6th floor with seven other women.

And we all have breast cancer!

We went around the room like we were new friends taking a knitting class and made

introductions,

"Hi, I'm Susan, I'm having a double 

mastectomy, surgery April 10th."

"Hi, I'm Carol, bi-lateral lumpectomy...."

It was surreal, I could barely speak, my

anxiety level was at 10+!  We talked

about surgery procedures, support

systems, how to stay calm, where to go for support....

(WTF?  Calm?   We have breast cancer people!!)

When it was over I talked to a woman and

her sister who were sitting next to me, and commented how calm the sister with cancer was and asked how she could be so calm.

Her name was Alandria, and she explained she had no other choice and with her faith in God she is going to beat it, she's a warrior and she needs to stay strong.  

It was such a powerful moment for me because

she was so right!   I decided right then and

there self-pity time was over and 

warrior time was calling!

I have a very strong faith and a very loving family and circle of friends that I know are going to help me through this.  

My new friend, Alandria, told me

I need to turn my fear to faith.

And so that's what I try to do, and for the

most part, I'm doing okay.

But then, five more days go by and the morning of the MRI I had myself so worked up with fear 

(the faith part was out the window!)

I had to take an anti-anxiety medication my

doctor had prescribed for me. 

Rob went to the MRI with me.

30 minutes on my stomach with my breasts 

falling through an opening in the machine

and the whole time I tried to

breathe,

pray,

relax,

think positive thoughts,

remind myself that the MRI was to help me,

help the doctors gather as much information

as they could to help me.

And it worked, I made it through it.

Rob and I headed home, I was just emotionally exhausted from worry and not sleeping well.  

Then I went to the beach along the Chesapeake

and walked for hours waiting for the nurse to call with the news. 

I cried.

I prayed.

I breathed deeply.

I called my mother.

I prayed some more.

I was constantly texting my sister and close friends - keeping them informed.

I texted Alandria,

who kept me calm and reminded me

to turn my fear to faith.

Finally around 3:30 the nurse from the

breast center called the house and talked to Rob.   He called to relay the doctor had reviewed the MRI and said the mass is 

actually contained and smaller than they 

originally thought, so I would be a good candidate for a lumpectomy followed up with
radiation.   But of course, nothing is 100% until the surgery is done.

I was thrilled!

I sat on the beach and I sobbed on the

phone with my husband like a baby.

Absolutely sobbed.

I still have breast cancer, but once again

I was starting to feel like in the end,

I will be okay. 

So then I called my mother.

And sobbed like a baby.

And I called my sister.

And sobbed like a baby.

And let my kids know.

Mom's going to be okay.

The next day I had to meet with the

plastic surgeon.   What a treat!

(Major sarcasm!)

Sitting in a room in front of an Olan Mills

type black velvet cloth for pictures

of my afflicted breast and the other one

that would be getting a lift and reduction

to match the cancer stricken breast.   

With the doctor, his nurse, and my husband all taking a peek, measuring, sketching,

drawing how the surgery is done.  

Surreal.

And so now, I wait.

Surgery is scheduled for April 27th.

I'm still praying, and trusting in my faith,

but I'm not as full of anxiety and fear

as I was.   A calmness has taken over.

(Hell, it could just 

be the anti-anxiety meds!)

But, I'll take it.  

It's just surreal, because wherever I am,

whatever I'm doing, in the back of my mind, 

I'm thinking, "I have breast cancer."

And it's just so surreal.

And I just want to do something about it!

I don't want to wait! 

Let's go, get it the hell out of me! 

Everyone says it must not be really bad,

the doctors are waiting over a month for your

surgery, while others are going in much sooner who were diagnosed at the same time, 

and I am taking that as a good sign.

And I'm praying my new found sisters

with breast cancer will also be warriors,

and that their journey's fear will be

replaced with faith, and I look forward

to the day we can all say,

"I survived breast cancer"

I kicked its ass.