More Than A Chapter

Last Tuesday, I met with the breast surgeon. This is the same one who performed my lumpectomy in 2016, so I know her and trust her. My hubby went along for support. It was nice he was able to, given that we're living in a pandemic.  The last 2 times I was diagnosed, I had DCIS and ADH, so they were considered pre-cancer. This time I have IDC (invasive ductal carcinoma), so things are a bit different. My decisions are harder.  Until I have surgery, I won't know the stage of my cancer. Along with removing the masses in my right breast, the surgeon is also going to remove lymph nodes. This didn't happen in 2012 or 2016. If cancer has traveled to the lymph nodes, then my stage will be higher than if it hasn't. That said, I have to decide if I want another lumpectomy (this will be my 3rd, although in a different breast this time around) with radiation or a double mastectomy (with or without breast reconstruction).  It's a lot to process.  I go for more tests this coming ...

As I was lying on my exercise mat, looking up at the ceiling, it seemed as though there were clouds of grief and loss swirling overhead. That's what this year seems to be filled with--grief. If I reached up to pull one of those swirls down, it would unravel a memory of a time before COVID. A time before my first cancer diagnosis in 2012. A time before my younger son died.  This happens a lot--these memories curling around me, so weighted with loss. They come to me like a life review, which I've read often happens after death.  This morning, I unfolded one of these clouds, and it took me back to a time when my older son was 5. We were living in Colorado. To keep him occupied over the summer break, I bought him a dinosaur excavation kit. I set his younger brother up in his Tumbleform chair on the kitchen floor to hang out with us while we became archaeologists. My older son even wore the goggles to protect his eyes from debris. It was an adventure and a way to pass time. Now it ...

The weekend could have been filled with anxiety if I had let it. There were moments, to be sure. I woke up in a panic a couple of times--some of which was related to losing my son; other times because of my new diagnosis.  I heard from my PCP late on Friday. Talking to her was the next step I had to take after receiving my biopsy results. The radiologist had recommended I go for an MRI before seeing a breast surgeon because my tissue is incredibly dense and hard to read. He wanted to make sure nothing was missed. However, when my PCP called, she preferred I see breast surgery first. But it was too late in the day to make an appointment. So...I waited...through Saturday...and Sunday for today.  The old me would anguish over the upcoming phone call and what it means. I think I have been laden with anxiety my entire life: passing out before blood draws, growing nervous about anything new, having stage fright when I had to give a presentation, etc. To be honest, it doesn't take mu...

If I were to write all of the life-changing experiences I've been through, it would take up more than a chapter. More than a whole book, to be precise.  2020 has been a hard year for the majority of us. With COVID-19 impacting our lives in ways we never could have imagined, things are difficult enough. But then when other trying situations are added to our plates, life tends to become overwhelming. Many people have lost their jobs or businesses. They don't know where their next paychecks are coming from. Some have lost loved ones to the virus or have contracted it themselves. Life feels unstable. While my family has managed to stay free of COVID-19 (for now), and my husband is still employed, other tragic events have transpired for us. Earlier this year, my younger son went into the hospital for status epilecticus. If you don't know what that is, it's a seizure that last more than 5 minutes and can prove life threatening. In his case, it was. After a six-day hospital st...