January 1, 2017
If you're uncomfortable with talking about butts, you may want to skip this section, there's a little TMI happening here.
During my first infusion, I became constipated from all the different meds. I didn't think much of it, I knew I strained but I had other things to worry about it so it wasn't something I was concerned it.
That is, until I woke up in the middle of the night on December 30th, in extreme pain. My butt was throbbing. Like actually throbbing and I had no idea what was happening to me. I had never experienced a pain like this before, and certainly never in my butt! I was awake the entire night in pain trying to google what was going on.
I finally decided it must be a hemorrhoid. And so began the endless reading of hemorrhoid blogs. I must have read about 1000 peoples butt problems and how they dealt with it. Based on the reading, I decided to try sitting in a bath a warm water. This helped but only temporarily.
I spent the next 24+ hours, in and out of the warm baths and trying to ice my rear end. I got some weird looks from my cat as I laid on the floor, legs in the air, and an ice pack held up to my butt.
None of that helped. I was in so much pain. On New Years Day, my parents came and got me and took me to urgent care. I sat, uncomfortably, in the waiting area, praying that the doctor wasn't some young attractive doctor that I was about to show my butt to.
My prayers didn't work. He was young, and quite good looking, and I had to show him my butt hole. If I was going through the cancer ordeal and already a hot mess in life, I probably would've been embarrassed but at this point, all I could do was laugh.
He did diagnose it as a hemorrhoid and prescribed me some cream for it. I found out hemorrhoids aren't that unusual. Most of my mom friends said they got them during their pregnancies. It's definitely not something I'd wish on anybody - the pain was unbearable.
About a week later, the pain was mostly gone but unfortunately the experience slightly traumatized me and now I'm obsessed and slightly scared of going to the bathroom. My investment of prunes has become comical.
Saturday, February 18, 2017
Chemo #1
December 21, 2016
My first chemo infusion was the same day as my port placement. This was nice because the area was already numbed up and ready to go.
When we got to the oncologist office, they took us back to the chemo room and we picked out a comfy chair to sit in. It was freezing in there and I was thankful I had brought blankets. I was nervous because I didn't know what to expect.
My nervousness quickly turned to annoyance when we found out that the nurse hadn't called in any of my prescriptions that I needed, including one that needed to be shipped to us. So then began the chaos of my mom being on the phone with CVS Specialty Care trying to figure out the delivery, the nurse being on my cell phone with CVS calling in the anti-nausea drugs that I needed, and me on the IPad trying to register for a program that would help me with the $500 co-pay for the Specialty Care medicine.
I highly suggest anyone about to start chemotherapy, talk with your nurse and make sure you have all your prescriptions ahead of time. I shouldn't have had to been stressed out figuring that all out when I was already stressed about my first infusion.
So, when we eventually got that settled, the infusion finally started. Due to my chest already being numb from the port surgery, I didn't feel anything.
Before the actual chemo drugs go in, they gave me a bag of anti-nausea medicine. This made me drowsy, and it came on very quickly. I was fine one moment and then a second later I could barely keep my eyelids open. I was laughing about it, trying to hold them open so I could read on my IPad.
Next came a red bag of chemo drugs and then a clear bag of chemo. I couldn't feel either one of those going in. When the bags were empty, the nurse came and popped the needle out of the port, put a little band-aid on it and that was it. I felt find other than needed to use the bathroom really badly.
Fair warning, the red bag of fluids, makes your urine red and even though she warned me about it, I forgot and freaked out when I saw red on the toilet paper and in the toilet bowl. Took me a moment to remember.
That evening, I started to feel very sore from the port. It wasn't extremely painful, but it was sore. I kept an ice pack on it to help with the pain and the bruising that they said would show up. I had a difficult time sleeping that night, it was uncomfortable turning on my port side so I had to be careful not to roll that way.
I awoke feeling sore and nauseous. My 6 year old nephew came to check on me and he was kind enough to go downstairs to get me ginger ale. I sipped on that a bit, it helped a little. They gave me two different anti-nausea meds in which I was supposed to alternate them every four hours. In addition to those, there were two other meds that I had to take for a few days. More anti-nausea stuff.
I also had to get a shot, the $500 copay shot that was shipped to us. Neulesta. This was to help keep white blood counts up. I'm lucky enough that I was staying with family, which included my doctor brother-in-law. He was able to give the shot to me. It hurt. He put it in my arm. It's one of those shots that just goes in the surface of the skin so you can feel it burning. Ouch.
At this point, I was sore from the port, a giant bruise was starting to develop, nauseous, tired, and constipated from all the drugs but that was it. That is, until day 3. That's when it hit me. The pains. The whole body pains. It was painful to touch me. It was painful to move. I couldn't sit comfortably, I couldn't stand comfortably, I couldn't lay down comfortably, I was just uncomfortable in every way. This pain lasted for 3 days and then it was over.
The pain from the port only lasted a little while longer. The bruise was quite large and lasted for a couple weeks. But I was able to sleep on my side again a week later. Now I can't feel it at all.
And that was my first week of chemo. I survived.
My first chemo infusion was the same day as my port placement. This was nice because the area was already numbed up and ready to go.
When we got to the oncologist office, they took us back to the chemo room and we picked out a comfy chair to sit in. It was freezing in there and I was thankful I had brought blankets. I was nervous because I didn't know what to expect.
My nervousness quickly turned to annoyance when we found out that the nurse hadn't called in any of my prescriptions that I needed, including one that needed to be shipped to us. So then began the chaos of my mom being on the phone with CVS Specialty Care trying to figure out the delivery, the nurse being on my cell phone with CVS calling in the anti-nausea drugs that I needed, and me on the IPad trying to register for a program that would help me with the $500 co-pay for the Specialty Care medicine.
I highly suggest anyone about to start chemotherapy, talk with your nurse and make sure you have all your prescriptions ahead of time. I shouldn't have had to been stressed out figuring that all out when I was already stressed about my first infusion.
So, when we eventually got that settled, the infusion finally started. Due to my chest already being numb from the port surgery, I didn't feel anything.
Before the actual chemo drugs go in, they gave me a bag of anti-nausea medicine. This made me drowsy, and it came on very quickly. I was fine one moment and then a second later I could barely keep my eyelids open. I was laughing about it, trying to hold them open so I could read on my IPad.
Next came a red bag of chemo drugs and then a clear bag of chemo. I couldn't feel either one of those going in. When the bags were empty, the nurse came and popped the needle out of the port, put a little band-aid on it and that was it. I felt find other than needed to use the bathroom really badly.
Fair warning, the red bag of fluids, makes your urine red and even though she warned me about it, I forgot and freaked out when I saw red on the toilet paper and in the toilet bowl. Took me a moment to remember.
That evening, I started to feel very sore from the port. It wasn't extremely painful, but it was sore. I kept an ice pack on it to help with the pain and the bruising that they said would show up. I had a difficult time sleeping that night, it was uncomfortable turning on my port side so I had to be careful not to roll that way.
I awoke feeling sore and nauseous. My 6 year old nephew came to check on me and he was kind enough to go downstairs to get me ginger ale. I sipped on that a bit, it helped a little. They gave me two different anti-nausea meds in which I was supposed to alternate them every four hours. In addition to those, there were two other meds that I had to take for a few days. More anti-nausea stuff.
I also had to get a shot, the $500 copay shot that was shipped to us. Neulesta. This was to help keep white blood counts up. I'm lucky enough that I was staying with family, which included my doctor brother-in-law. He was able to give the shot to me. It hurt. He put it in my arm. It's one of those shots that just goes in the surface of the skin so you can feel it burning. Ouch.
At this point, I was sore from the port, a giant bruise was starting to develop, nauseous, tired, and constipated from all the drugs but that was it. That is, until day 3. That's when it hit me. The pains. The whole body pains. It was painful to touch me. It was painful to move. I couldn't sit comfortably, I couldn't stand comfortably, I couldn't lay down comfortably, I was just uncomfortable in every way. This pain lasted for 3 days and then it was over.
The pain from the port only lasted a little while longer. The bruise was quite large and lasted for a couple weeks. But I was able to sleep on my side again a week later. Now I can't feel it at all.
And that was my first week of chemo. I survived.
Getting My Port
December 21, 2016
This is the morning I got my port surgically placed. A port is this little thing they attach to one of your veins in your chest so they can put the chemo through that vein instead of tearing up the veins in your arms every week.
I tried googling what to expect and honestly I found so many different responses that I didn't come to any conclusion on what the experience would be.
Turns the whole process was about 10 minutes and nothing to worry about.
They took me and mom back to a room. My mom sat in a little waiting area, in the same room as the surgical area.
I changed into a hospital top, they put an IV in my arm and then helped me onto the surgical bed. I had to keep my head turned to the left. They covered my face a bit with towels and I could feel them cleaning the chest area. The nurse then told me she was going to put in the twilight medicine. It wouldn't knock me but it would put me in a dazed state. I honestly didn't feel it at all. Then the surgical assistant said he was going to give me a few shots to numb me and I would feel a little poke, again, I didn't feel those at all either. Not even a little bit.
Then the doctor came in and in less than 10 minutes, he was done. The assistant stitched me up and that was that. I didn't feel anything. I wasn't even dizzy.
Mom and I went straight from here to my first chemo appointment.
This is the morning I got my port surgically placed. A port is this little thing they attach to one of your veins in your chest so they can put the chemo through that vein instead of tearing up the veins in your arms every week.
I tried googling what to expect and honestly I found so many different responses that I didn't come to any conclusion on what the experience would be.
Turns the whole process was about 10 minutes and nothing to worry about.
They took me and mom back to a room. My mom sat in a little waiting area, in the same room as the surgical area.
I changed into a hospital top, they put an IV in my arm and then helped me onto the surgical bed. I had to keep my head turned to the left. They covered my face a bit with towels and I could feel them cleaning the chest area. The nurse then told me she was going to put in the twilight medicine. It wouldn't knock me but it would put me in a dazed state. I honestly didn't feel it at all. Then the surgical assistant said he was going to give me a few shots to numb me and I would feel a little poke, again, I didn't feel those at all either. Not even a little bit.
Then the doctor came in and in less than 10 minutes, he was done. The assistant stitched me up and that was that. I didn't feel anything. I wasn't even dizzy.
Mom and I went straight from here to my first chemo appointment.
Tuesday, January 24, 2017
The Three Little Tests
December 2, 2016 - December 5, 2016
After what seemed like forever, I finally had all three of my tests scheduled.
The first one was the genetic testing. My sister had this test done voluntarily and hers was a swab in the mouth. Mine was an actual blood test. No big deal, standard needle in the arm, draw some blood, done.
The PET Scan was next. I had never had one of these before and had no idea what to expect. I thought it would be like an MRI but it was quite different.
First thing is the nurse did was put me in this little room, in a super comfy recliner, and told me to find whatever television station I liked. Then she left. I had no idea why. Although everyone there was nice, no one actually explained to me yet what was going on or why I was watching Law & Order reruns. I decided to make the best out of it and kicked off my boots and cuddled into the chair until the nurse came back.
When the nurse did come back she finally explained what was going to happen. They were going to get an IV in so they could put some radioactive chemical in me, then I would sit for 45 minutes while that stuff went through my veins and then I would get the actual scan for about 20 minutes.
She put the IV in me, no problem and then opened a thick, heavy metal box. The chemical inside was literally guarded by the thickest looking metal container possible. I asked her what the deal with all the metal was and she said it was limit their exposure to it since it was nuclear. That made me feel pretty good about the fact that it was going through my veins.
The nurse then brought me a big cup of something and told me that I needed to drink as much of it as possible within the first 20 minutes of sitting there. Her exact words were "Don't make yourself sick, but try to get it down."
It looked like a very watered down vanilla milkshake. It did not taste like a very watered down vanilla milkshake. It tasted like a watered down gag me shake. I spent the next few minutes texting my mom and googling what the heck I was drinking. I found my answer on Google about the same time that I realized the answer was printed on the side of the cup. Barium. I was drinking barium. I don't recommend it.
The barium apparently coats your insides so everything is easier to see during the PET Scan.
After my 45 minute wait, I was put into the actual x-ray machine. The best part of this, I didn't even have to undress! As long you're not wearing any underwire bras, you're good to go in your hoodie and sweats!
You lay on a sliding bed that moves slowly into a covered x-ray machine. It's not painful. It's not entertaining. It's a very boring and uneventful test. The worst part, and the only uncomfortable part, is that you have to keep your arms above your head the whole time. This may not seem like a big deal, but circulation quickly goes away when keeping your arms in this position. I basically just kept my eyes shut and tried to count down the time that I was in there. I was not very successful in keeping count, but at least it kept my mind busy and somewhat off the fact that my fingers were tingly.
The third, and final test, was the MRI. An MRI on your breast is actually slightly amusing. First, they put an IV in your arm. Then they somehow expect you to gracefully get yourself in a face down position on the bed without bending the arm with the IV in it. The bed looks like a massage table with a empty space cut out for your boobies to hang out in. Once you're face down, the technician then has to adjust that space, and your boobies, so they are boxed in and ready to be imaged. Oh, did I mention that your arms have to be straight up over your head again? Only this time, since you're on your stomach, you're basically in the superman flying position.
They slowly move you into the machine and the technician tells you how long each scan will be. 2 minutes, 4 minutes, 7 minutes, etc. During these scans, you have to be perfectly still and try to breathe evenly. That's a joke. Trying to breathe evenly while laying with your rib cage expanded from your superman arms and your boobs being trapped in a box is pretty impossible.
I spent the entire time yelling at myself, "Stop moving, AnnaMarie.", "Slow down the breathing, girl", "You're going to get scolded by the technician if you don't slow it down!" It was a stressful test. At some point they put the magic chemical in my arm and then scanned me for another 8 minutes or so and then it was done. Fingers tingly, shoulders sore, but overall painless.
Next step was to hope the results came back quickly because I had an appointment with my oncologist later that week. Fingers crossed these tests didn't slow down the process.
After what seemed like forever, I finally had all three of my tests scheduled.
The first one was the genetic testing. My sister had this test done voluntarily and hers was a swab in the mouth. Mine was an actual blood test. No big deal, standard needle in the arm, draw some blood, done.
The PET Scan was next. I had never had one of these before and had no idea what to expect. I thought it would be like an MRI but it was quite different.
First thing is the nurse did was put me in this little room, in a super comfy recliner, and told me to find whatever television station I liked. Then she left. I had no idea why. Although everyone there was nice, no one actually explained to me yet what was going on or why I was watching Law & Order reruns. I decided to make the best out of it and kicked off my boots and cuddled into the chair until the nurse came back.
When the nurse did come back she finally explained what was going to happen. They were going to get an IV in so they could put some radioactive chemical in me, then I would sit for 45 minutes while that stuff went through my veins and then I would get the actual scan for about 20 minutes.
She put the IV in me, no problem and then opened a thick, heavy metal box. The chemical inside was literally guarded by the thickest looking metal container possible. I asked her what the deal with all the metal was and she said it was limit their exposure to it since it was nuclear. That made me feel pretty good about the fact that it was going through my veins.
The nurse then brought me a big cup of something and told me that I needed to drink as much of it as possible within the first 20 minutes of sitting there. Her exact words were "Don't make yourself sick, but try to get it down."
It looked like a very watered down vanilla milkshake. It did not taste like a very watered down vanilla milkshake. It tasted like a watered down gag me shake. I spent the next few minutes texting my mom and googling what the heck I was drinking. I found my answer on Google about the same time that I realized the answer was printed on the side of the cup. Barium. I was drinking barium. I don't recommend it.
The barium apparently coats your insides so everything is easier to see during the PET Scan.
After my 45 minute wait, I was put into the actual x-ray machine. The best part of this, I didn't even have to undress! As long you're not wearing any underwire bras, you're good to go in your hoodie and sweats!
You lay on a sliding bed that moves slowly into a covered x-ray machine. It's not painful. It's not entertaining. It's a very boring and uneventful test. The worst part, and the only uncomfortable part, is that you have to keep your arms above your head the whole time. This may not seem like a big deal, but circulation quickly goes away when keeping your arms in this position. I basically just kept my eyes shut and tried to count down the time that I was in there. I was not very successful in keeping count, but at least it kept my mind busy and somewhat off the fact that my fingers were tingly.
The third, and final test, was the MRI. An MRI on your breast is actually slightly amusing. First, they put an IV in your arm. Then they somehow expect you to gracefully get yourself in a face down position on the bed without bending the arm with the IV in it. The bed looks like a massage table with a empty space cut out for your boobies to hang out in. Once you're face down, the technician then has to adjust that space, and your boobies, so they are boxed in and ready to be imaged. Oh, did I mention that your arms have to be straight up over your head again? Only this time, since you're on your stomach, you're basically in the superman flying position.
They slowly move you into the machine and the technician tells you how long each scan will be. 2 minutes, 4 minutes, 7 minutes, etc. During these scans, you have to be perfectly still and try to breathe evenly. That's a joke. Trying to breathe evenly while laying with your rib cage expanded from your superman arms and your boobs being trapped in a box is pretty impossible.
I spent the entire time yelling at myself, "Stop moving, AnnaMarie.", "Slow down the breathing, girl", "You're going to get scolded by the technician if you don't slow it down!" It was a stressful test. At some point they put the magic chemical in my arm and then scanned me for another 8 minutes or so and then it was done. Fingers tingly, shoulders sore, but overall painless.
Next step was to hope the results came back quickly because I had an appointment with my oncologist later that week. Fingers crossed these tests didn't slow down the process.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
The Breast Cancer Specialist
November 10, 2016
Mom and I went to meet the specialist together. This is where we would find out what my treatment would be and what the next step was.
My specialist was highly recommended by several doctors in the area so I felt confident in her even before meeting her. When she walked in and begun to speak, I felt even more at ease. She was very nice AND has an English accent of sort and that makes everything sound better. Even the word Cancer sounds better with an accent. It just does.
She didn't waste much time, which was nice, we got right down to business. We talked about family history and how my mother and grandmother, and great grandmother, all had to deal with breast cancer before me.
I would need to have a double mastectomy and be treated with chemotherapy. The treatment decision was made easy with the fact that I had family history and I didn't have to worry about hurting any reproduction organs, since mine didn't cooperate much anyway.
Dr. O'Neill thought I would have surgery first, and then chemo afterwards. I think this was based on knowing already that the double mastectomy was the plan. The final decision would be based on some test results that I would need to have.
And that was the next step - scheduling three different tests: a PET scan, an MRI and genetic testing blood work.
Let me tell you, my frustration and stress was high on these tests. No one cares about the timing of these things and the fact that you have a life threatening disease and you can't get treatment until these tests are complete. After weeks of waiting, I had to put the hammer down, put on my sassy pants and start calling everyone to the point of annoyance. I annoyed the specialists office until they faxed over the referrals again. Then I called the imaging centers and diagnostic center everyday after that. And I even then ruthlessly emailed my healthcare advocate at my insurance company for help. And actually, my healthcare advocate was the only one who seemed to care. She went out of her way to help me, and even prayed for me on the phone. She was the only one who seemed to care.
If you're ever in this situation, be proactive. Be your own advocate and make those phone calls. During the four weeks that I had to wait to get my tests done, my left breast had time to change. The lump(s) had grown. They were now easily seen without having to point them out, as the one on top protrudes out the side of my left breast. The whole area visually looks different now.
When you're in this situation, you just want treatment to start, so that it can finish.
Mom and I went to meet the specialist together. This is where we would find out what my treatment would be and what the next step was.
My specialist was highly recommended by several doctors in the area so I felt confident in her even before meeting her. When she walked in and begun to speak, I felt even more at ease. She was very nice AND has an English accent of sort and that makes everything sound better. Even the word Cancer sounds better with an accent. It just does.
She didn't waste much time, which was nice, we got right down to business. We talked about family history and how my mother and grandmother, and great grandmother, all had to deal with breast cancer before me.
I would need to have a double mastectomy and be treated with chemotherapy. The treatment decision was made easy with the fact that I had family history and I didn't have to worry about hurting any reproduction organs, since mine didn't cooperate much anyway.
Dr. O'Neill thought I would have surgery first, and then chemo afterwards. I think this was based on knowing already that the double mastectomy was the plan. The final decision would be based on some test results that I would need to have.
And that was the next step - scheduling three different tests: a PET scan, an MRI and genetic testing blood work.
Let me tell you, my frustration and stress was high on these tests. No one cares about the timing of these things and the fact that you have a life threatening disease and you can't get treatment until these tests are complete. After weeks of waiting, I had to put the hammer down, put on my sassy pants and start calling everyone to the point of annoyance. I annoyed the specialists office until they faxed over the referrals again. Then I called the imaging centers and diagnostic center everyday after that. And I even then ruthlessly emailed my healthcare advocate at my insurance company for help. And actually, my healthcare advocate was the only one who seemed to care. She went out of her way to help me, and even prayed for me on the phone. She was the only one who seemed to care.
If you're ever in this situation, be proactive. Be your own advocate and make those phone calls. During the four weeks that I had to wait to get my tests done, my left breast had time to change. The lump(s) had grown. They were now easily seen without having to point them out, as the one on top protrudes out the side of my left breast. The whole area visually looks different now.
When you're in this situation, you just want treatment to start, so that it can finish.
Saturday, January 7, 2017
The Biopsy
November 3, 2016
The biopsy was pretty painless.
Mom drove me since we weren't sure exactly how I'd feel afterward.
I didn't really feel anything. All I can say is that if you've never had a biopsy on your breast, don't ask to look at the tools! They are much scarier looking than actual process.
My highlight of this procedure was the doctor talking to me like I was much younger than I am, and then realizing it and apologizing saying "Oh my goodness, I thought you were much younger." I, of course, will never complain about someone thinking I'm younger than I am.
The actual procedure consisted of me on the table, on my side, arm over my head. And then the doctor used a tool to retract tissue from the cancerous area. The worst part was a loud clicking sound the tool made. It sounded much like a staple gun. That sounds scary, but other than a little pressure, I really didn't feel anything. A definite zero on the pain.
After this, they needed to do another mammogram. This was more of a half mammogram where they carefully only checked part of the breast. Less squashing than a normal exam.
And that was it.
While I was waiting to be excused, I sat next to another woman there. Both of us sitting in our ultra stylish hospital gowns. Her legs were jittery and she looked nervous. I told her I just had a biopsy, and it was much easier than I had imagined. She smiled at me, and said this was her first biopsy. I told her not to worry, there's no pain and it's super quick. The nurse then excused me and I looked back at the woman and told her good luck.
And that was it. My doctors office would call a few days later to confirm that the cancer was there and then a referral was sent to a breast cancer specialist and I just had to wait for them to call me.
The biopsy was pretty painless.
Mom drove me since we weren't sure exactly how I'd feel afterward.
I didn't really feel anything. All I can say is that if you've never had a biopsy on your breast, don't ask to look at the tools! They are much scarier looking than actual process.
My highlight of this procedure was the doctor talking to me like I was much younger than I am, and then realizing it and apologizing saying "Oh my goodness, I thought you were much younger." I, of course, will never complain about someone thinking I'm younger than I am.
The actual procedure consisted of me on the table, on my side, arm over my head. And then the doctor used a tool to retract tissue from the cancerous area. The worst part was a loud clicking sound the tool made. It sounded much like a staple gun. That sounds scary, but other than a little pressure, I really didn't feel anything. A definite zero on the pain.
After this, they needed to do another mammogram. This was more of a half mammogram where they carefully only checked part of the breast. Less squashing than a normal exam.
And that was it.
While I was waiting to be excused, I sat next to another woman there. Both of us sitting in our ultra stylish hospital gowns. Her legs were jittery and she looked nervous. I told her I just had a biopsy, and it was much easier than I had imagined. She smiled at me, and said this was her first biopsy. I told her not to worry, there's no pain and it's super quick. The nurse then excused me and I looked back at the woman and told her good luck.
And that was it. My doctors office would call a few days later to confirm that the cancer was there and then a referral was sent to a breast cancer specialist and I just had to wait for them to call me.
Monday, January 2, 2017
The Diagnosis
October 27th, 2016
When I had left the imaging center the day before, I didn't expect to hear anything for about a week. This wasn't the case.
I was preparing my classroom, around 7:00 am, and having a good morning. I walked out of the room to make copies, happy that there was paper available. Upon returning to my room, I noticed I missed a call and there was a message for me.
The message was from the my gynecologists office. Her secretary said Dr. Tack wanted to see me as soon as I could come in.
That was it. I knew it right then and there. I texted my mom immediately. I text my ex-husband immediately. I already knew. There was no other reason that my doctor would call me that early in the morning and want to see me the day after my exam unless it was something big. Something like the C word.
Of course, being a teacher, I couldn't just leave work so I had to put a smile on and continue my day as though I wasn't about to be told I have cancer. It was a long day.
When I finally got to the office, about 3:30, I didn't have to wait in the waiting room long. And when the nurse was bringing me back and asked me how I was doing, I told her to ask me on my way out.
Dr. Tack didn't waste anytime. One of the reasons that I liked her so much was that she was always straight to the point. She looked at me and said "It's breast cancer."
I said, "I know." And I said, "My mom is going to be really sad." Because that's the first thing I thought about.
Dr. Tack was mad. She was angry because she knew we were watching it and being proactive. Unfortunately, the cancer actually snuck up behind the two cyst that we were watching. I reassured her that she and I both did everything, it just happened. I thought about it afterward, the irony of me reassuring my doctor.
When I got to the car, I called my mother, and I cried. I then called my ex husband, who has always been my biggest supporter and always knew my fear. And I cried to him. I drove home half crying, half dazed. I texted my best friend as soon as I got home but had to gather myself before I could speak again.
The next step was to get a biopsy to confirm what we already knew. And so began my journey, my walk with the C word.
When I had left the imaging center the day before, I didn't expect to hear anything for about a week. This wasn't the case.
I was preparing my classroom, around 7:00 am, and having a good morning. I walked out of the room to make copies, happy that there was paper available. Upon returning to my room, I noticed I missed a call and there was a message for me.
The message was from the my gynecologists office. Her secretary said Dr. Tack wanted to see me as soon as I could come in.
That was it. I knew it right then and there. I texted my mom immediately. I text my ex-husband immediately. I already knew. There was no other reason that my doctor would call me that early in the morning and want to see me the day after my exam unless it was something big. Something like the C word.
Of course, being a teacher, I couldn't just leave work so I had to put a smile on and continue my day as though I wasn't about to be told I have cancer. It was a long day.
When I finally got to the office, about 3:30, I didn't have to wait in the waiting room long. And when the nurse was bringing me back and asked me how I was doing, I told her to ask me on my way out.
Dr. Tack didn't waste anytime. One of the reasons that I liked her so much was that she was always straight to the point. She looked at me and said "It's breast cancer."
I said, "I know." And I said, "My mom is going to be really sad." Because that's the first thing I thought about.
Dr. Tack was mad. She was angry because she knew we were watching it and being proactive. Unfortunately, the cancer actually snuck up behind the two cyst that we were watching. I reassured her that she and I both did everything, it just happened. I thought about it afterward, the irony of me reassuring my doctor.
When I got to the car, I called my mother, and I cried. I then called my ex husband, who has always been my biggest supporter and always knew my fear. And I cried to him. I drove home half crying, half dazed. I texted my best friend as soon as I got home but had to gather myself before I could speak again.
The next step was to get a biopsy to confirm what we already knew. And so began my journey, my walk with the C word.
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