And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.
In 2017, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I went through a partial mastectomy, 20 rounds of radiation, and I took oral chemo for 5 years. A year after the surgery, an inexperienced mammogram technician attempted to get a tight close-up of the surgical area. She clamped down too hard, pulling me for the first time up on my toes in pain and causing tears. Her inexperience left me with internal bleeding which went into a huge infection, requiring drains and specialists, which I hadn’t had to deal with after my surgery. It also caused what was left of that breast to collapse, leaving me grossly misshapen and, well, let’s just say my days of dancing naked on tables were over.
I believed that year to be the worst of my life, until the last 19 months. I definitely have a new perspective now.
I am eight years away from cancer now. I rarely think of the breast cancer anymore, but my once-a-year appointment with my oncologist and for bloodwork, and my once-a-year mammogram (so much better than every three months!) tends to bring it all roaring back. I guess the experience exists now just beneath my surface.
I had my appointment with the oncologist and the bloodwork last May. I didn’t even stop to think about my mammogram. So when I was visiting the Milwaukee County Zoo this past weekend with my son Andy and daughter Olivia, and I received a reminder email about a mammogram on Monday, my immediate reaction was to stop dead in my tracks and say, “No, I don’t!”
It wasn’t on my calendar. Which meant it didn’t exist. But yes, to my surprise, when I called on Monday morning, it was confirmed that I did. When the nurse asked me if I wanted to reschedule, I considered it for a hot minute.
My breast cancer happened because I allowed myself to be “too busy” and I missed it 3 years in a row. The type of cancer I had is called invasive ductal carcinoma. The tumor was in a milk duct. If I’d gone to my regular mammograms, the tumor would have been found there, and it would have been removed and that would have been the end of it. No further treatment. At that point, it was non-invasive ductal carcinoma. But because I unknowingly left it so long, the tumor grew and burst through the walls of the milk duct, possibly metastasizing or traveling to my lymph nodes or both.
All because I was too busy.
Did I want to reschedule my appointment? “No,” I said. “I’m busy, but I’ll be there this afternoon.”
Now I will admit that the five deaths I’ve experienced in 18 months, four of which required me to make the decision to let those lives go – one of which was my husband – is playing awful games with my head. I’ve begun to wonder who is next in line. Any time one of my cats sneezes, or one of my kids gets in a car or goes for a walk or doesn’t answer a text right away, I freak out. It’s truly not a comfortable way to live.
So of course, as I drove to the Cancer Center that afternoon, I began to wonder. Was it me? Was I next in line?
I’ve spoken with a lot of breast cancer survivors. All of them have told me that, whether they are a year out, ten years out, twenty-five years out, all of the fear and worry comes rushing back on mammogram day. And so I dealt with that again on Monday, but to the extreme.
Would I be next?
I very much remember, back in 2017, sitting in the room where I was to have my biopsy, waiting for it to begin. I picked up a People magazine from the table beside me. The cover story was on Olivia Newton-John. She’d just died, twenty-five years out from breast cancer. After doing everything right. She ate well, she exercised, she reduced stress, she did yoga and meditation. But a single cancer cell drifted during her treatment to her tailbone, where it “slept” for twenty-five years. And then it awakened.
I am a polite person, and I am a polite patient. But I threw that magazine across the room. As it thwacked against the opposite wall, the radiologist came in. He looked at me, then walked over and picked up the magazine. When he read the cover, he dropped the magazine into the garbage can.
“It’ll be okay, Kathie,” he said.
I wasn’t convinced. And once a year, twice, if you count the visit to the oncologist and the bloodwork, I’m still not convinced.
But I went to my mammogram.
I had a very experienced and very efficient technician. She chattered as she walked me through all of the steps. Then she told me to sit down while she showed the screens to the radiologist. This is standard. Where I go, you get your results immediately.
I sat in the chair. Amazing how time can stretch.
But she was back in five minutes. “You’re good to go, Kathie,” she said. “See you next year.”
I sat for a few minutes more before I got dressed. I let the relief and the gratitude just wash over me. Even though it is very, very, VERY hard for me to feel gratitude right now.
But I felt it.
It wasn’t going to be me. Not on this day, anyway.
Whew.
And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.
October, by the way, is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Get your mammograms. Don’t be too busy.
